Janet turned up the light and went over to the divan where she cautiously began to open the box. It was securely tied. "There's something moving inside," she cried excitedly. "I can't stop to untie it. Get me a knife or a pair of scissors, somebody, quick."
"No, no," cried Edna; "it might be a snake."
"Or a mouse," said Lee.
"Or a rat," suggested Cordelia.
"Then get out of the way," said Janet calmly, beginning to snip the cords. Lee and Edna skurried into the next room, but Cordelia stood her ground. Janet lifted off the cover of the box to disclose a blinking, winking little kitten that had been quite content to curl up in the shelter of the box, but that thus suddenly disturbed, looked up into Janet's face, opened its little pink mouth, and gave utterance to a very small but plaintive mew.
"You darling!" cried Janet, picking up the small creature and snuggling it in her neck. "I'd like to keep you, baby kitty. Oh, for a smitchin of milk."
"I know who has some," said Lee, who, with Edna, had returned as soon as it was discovered that no terrifying creature was contained in the box. "Grace Breitner gets a jar of milk every day. She drinks it at night. The doctor said she must. She will spare a little, I know."
"Do ask her if she will," said Janet. "There's a good child, Lee."
And Lee sped away, returning with the desired milk and with Grace.
"There, kitten," said Lee, "see what the good lady has brought you. It's right cold, Janet. I'll warm it a little."