“Where did you get it?” she asked quickly. “Who gave it to you?”
“Dan found her stray in the streets,” said Becky. “A boy was going to behave cruel to her, and Dan fought him, and brought her home to me.”
Philippa sprang to her feet.
“Then I do believe,” she exclaimed, “that it’s Maisie’s grey kitten!”
Maisie’s grey kitten! Becky clutched her pet closely, and looked up with eyes full of terror. How could it be any one’s kitten but hers?
“You know,” continued Philippa, much too excited by the discovery to think of Becky’s feelings, “Maisie Chester’s my cousin, sister to Dennis who was so kind to your father.”
Becky nodded.
“Well, their cat had three kittens—a black one, a white one, and a grey one. They kept the black one, and gave the white one to me on my birthday, but the grey one got lost. It was sent to the tinsmith’s in Upwell, and it ran away, so, of course,” ended Philippa, pointing triumphantly at the small form in Becky’s arms, “that’s it. Won’t Maisie be glad! She always liked it the best, and she’s always talking about it now.”
Before Becky could say a word, and, indeed, before she had got the dreadful fact into her mind that the kitten belonged to some one else, Miss Mervyn’s entrance put a stop to any further explanation. She was anxious for Philippa to come away at once, and Philippa herself, full of her great discovery, was equally anxious to go, for she wanted to tell Dennis and Maisie the news without delay. They had tried to find the kitten for such a long while, and now she had been clever enough to do it, all by herself!