“A most unamiable, disagreeable cat! He ought to be whipped and put to bed also,” said Kitty, and she marched on with an offended air.
Birds which looked as if they were always molting watched her as she passed, presenting a most dejected appearance with their heads very much on one side.
“Poor birdies—birdies!” whispered Kitty softly.
At the first step she made in their direction they flew off with as much flutter as their feeble wings could make.
“I wonder have I grown horrid to look at, that they are all so frightened at me!” muttered Kitty. She felt her cheeks, her nose. Her nose seemed to be the same round little nose inclined to point upward, her cheeks felt plump and soft.
All at once something cold dropped on the nape of her neck, just behind her ear. Kitty put up her hand and took hold of a goggle-eyed frog. “Oh, oh, oh!” she cried with a shiver, throwing it away.
“Ha, ha, ha!” shouted a little boy, dancing round and round.
He was the queerest little lad she had ever seen. He had short legs, and a queer little fat figure, and queer little pointed ears; queer little curls fell over his forehead, and he had queer yellow eyes.
He looked so funny, putting one in mind of something between a monkey, a squirrel, and a boy, that Kitty after a moment began to laugh. It seemed to her that Cousin Charlie might look like that at his very naughtiest.