The cat was an unusually placid animal, or she never would have permitted a little girl to do such a thing. Prue had always used her for a doll, dressing her up in all sorts of things, and sometimes dragging her about in a wooden box which she called a “carriage.” This alleged vehicle was an old soap box, beautifully padded with a woollen shawl. It had neither wheels nor springs, and as little Prue dragged it along, it thumped over twigs and stones with the most surprising jolts. Pussy, however, seemed to have a species of lethargy, for she slept through it all; so Prue insisted that she liked the ride. The family declared the cat to be absolutely without vim; but that deficiency in her make-up made her a delightful plaything for Prue.
After dinner Mrs. Weston talked long and seriously with her little daughter, telling her that as pussy was so gentle and willing to be played with, she ought to be very kind to her and never do anything that Tabby would not like.
“But I wanted Tabby to be clean in time for the folks to see her when we have the apple-bee,” said Prue.
“Oh, she’ll be clean as clean can be by that time,” said her mother, smiling. “She’ll have a whole week to wash in. I think that when you wish to do something to kitty different from what you’ve done before, you’d better come and ask me first.”
“I will,” said the little girl, promptly, and Mrs. Weston knew that pussy was safe from any new torment, for Prue always kept her word, and she loved Tabby dearly.
Early in the afternoon, as Mrs. Weston sat by the window mending, another wagon stopped at the door; and this time a tall, angular woman came up the path with nervous haste. The door was open, and without waiting to knock, the caller walked in and seated herself.
“There, I guess you’re s’prised to see me, Mis’ Weston, but I jest had ter come.”
“Well, I am surprised,” responded Mrs. Weston; “but I’m just as pleased ter see ye. Take off yer bunnit.”
“I’ll take it off jest ter show it ter ye,” said Mrs. Jenks. “I thought I’d had a change of heart years an’ years ago, but I guess I’ve jest got it now.”
“Do tell! Why, Mrs. Jenks, how ye talk,” and in blank amazement Mrs. Weston stopped mending, the stocking, however, still drawn over her hand.