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About Benjamin West And His Cat Grimalkin
Product Description Newbery Award–winning author Marguerite Henry’s beloved novel about a boy who would do anything to paint is now available in a refreshed paperback edition. Benjamin West was born with an extraordinary gift—the gift of creating paintings of people, animals, and landscapes so true to life they “took one’s breath away.” But Benjamin is part of a deeply religious Quaker family, and Quaker beliefs forbid the creation of images. Because Benjamin’s family didn’t approve of his art, he had to make his own painting supplies. The local Native Americans taught him how to mix paints from earth, clay, and plants. And his cat, Grimalkin, sacrificed hair from his tail for Ben’s brushes. This classic story from Newbery Award–winning author Marguerite Henry features the original text with gorgeous new cover art. About the Author Marguerite Henry was the beloved author of such classic horse stories as King of the Wind; Misty of Chincoteague; and Stormy, Misty’s Foal, all of which are available in Aladdin paperback editions. Wesley Dennis was best known for his illustrations in collaboration with author Marguerite Henry. They published sixteen books together. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Benjamin West and his Cat Grimalkin Chapter 1 WELCOME TO DOOR-LATCH INN Benjamin woke with a jerk. He held his breath, trying to separate the sounds that came floating up from the innyard. Usually he slept through noises. Travelers could lift the latch, help themselves to the snack of food set out for them, warm themselves by the fire, and leave without his so much as hearing them. But tonight there was a small sound that he could not make out. In a moment everything went quiet. Papa’s hound dogs stopped yapping. The rumble of cart wheels died. It was like the stillness that often comes in the middle of a storm. Benjamin raised himself up on one elbow. He wished he had ears like a horse so that he could swivel them around to catch the tiniest sound. There! The little noise came again. It was not the trembling cry of a screech owl. It was not the creaking of the inn signboard, or the frightening howl of a wolf. It sounded more like a boy. In a flash Benjamin’s bare feet were on the stool that acted as a mounting block for his high bed. Soundlessly he dropped to the floor and hurried over to the tiny square window. He threw open the shutters and poked his head out into the frosty November night. The courtyard, spread out below him, was washed in moonlight. He could see a man leading two scrawny oxen to the shed. He could make out the figures of a woman and a boy on the seat of the oxcart. Suddenly the boy bent over something in his lap and let out a dry sob. Benjamin tore off his nightshirt. His clothes lay heaped on a bench in a white patch of moonlight. Quickly he slipped into his leather jerkin and knee breeches. How cold they felt! Perhaps the boy was crying because he was cold. But no, figured Benjamin, as he pulled on his hand-knit stockings and hobnail shoes, it took more than cold to make a boy cry like that. Shivering, he lifted the latch and tiptoed out into the hall. “Papa!” he cried, as he collided with Mr. West, who was walking briskly toward him with a candle in his hand. Benjamin tried to straighten the candle which he had tipped at a crazy angle. He daubed at the hot tallow which had spilled down Mr. West’s coat. Then he looked up at his father and, frightened as he was, he wanted to laugh. In the long shadows made by the candle, his father looked exactly like the scarecrow in Mamma’s kitchen garden. The scarecrow wore a sober Quaker jacket and a white nightcap to frighten the crows. And here was Mr. West dressed like the sober Quaker he was, except for a white nightcap perched on his head. But even with his nightcap on, Papa looked forbidding. “Benjamin!” he said, his eyebrows scowling. “Must thee meet every guest?” “No, Papa,” replied Benjamin earnestly, “but the
