“I can climb the tree,” said Harold, “but how will I get him down?”
“I’ll get thee a net bag, and maybe thee can manage to get him into that by throwing it over him and drawing the strings; then he’ll be safe enough, and so will thee, too. Thee is sure thee is not afraid?”
“I’ll try my best to get him,” said Harold, sturdily. And off the children started to find Bobby still up in the tree.
Harold began to climb toward him, but the higher he went, the higher did pussy go, till Mabel, in alarm, called: “You’ll fall, Harold; the branches are getting so little. You’d better come down.” Harold, sitting astride a limb, looked down at her.
“What’s up, sis?” said someone from the road.
Mabel turned, and saw a man sitting in a cart. “A cat,” she replied. The man laughed, and climbed down from his seat.
“Your’n?” he asked.
“No, an old lady’s up the street; and we promised to try and get the cat down for her. It was chased by some dogs and boys.”
“Pretty high up, ain’t she?” returned the man. “Your brother, there?”
“No; at least, he’s just like my brother; he lives at our house.”