That night at the supper-table she broached the question.
“Mother, have you ever seen a cat about the place—a black cat, a swift cat, a cat that never stays for a second in one spot—a mysterious cat that is gone as soon as you see it?”
“That sounds spooky enough!” commented Dr. Corliss. “You make the shivers run down my sensitive spine!”
“I have not seen any cat,” said Mrs. Corliss. “I think you must be mistaken, Mary.”
“Yes, I’ve seen a cat!” volunteered John,—“a thin black cat, oh, so thin! I saw him run across the lawn once; and once I saw him crouching down by the lilac bush near the back door. I think he was catching mice.”
“Then there is a cat,” said Mary. “I thought I might be dreaming. He must be very wild. I believe he lives under our house.”
“Under the house!” exclaimed Mrs. Corliss. “Surely, we should all have seen him if he lived so near. I can’t think he could have escaped my eyes. But now, I remember, I have heard strange noises in the cellar once or twice.”
“I have, often,” said Mary, “under my library.”
“Maybe it is a witch-cat!” suggested Dr. Corliss, pretending to look frightened. “You people are all so fond of poetry and ravens and mystery and magics—you attract strange doings, you see. Maybe Aunt Nan had a witch-cat who helped her play tricks on the ever-to-be-surprised world.”
“Daddy!” cried John, “there’s no such thing as a witch-cat, is there, truly?”