“If so be,” began Dan slowly, “as how it’s Miss Maisie’s kitten, ’tain’t ours.”
The kitten had finished its supper, and stretched itself out to sleep, just under Becky’s chin. She gazed at her brother over its back, as though he were Fate itself, but said nothing.
“And we allers said,” he went on, “as how we was very grateful to Master Dennis alonger of what he did for father.”
Becky nodded. She knew that. It had made part of her day-dreams for months past.
“But there didn’t seem any way to show it, because they’re so rich and we’re poor.” Becky trembled at what was coming, as Dan went on in an even voice, very low, so as not to disturb his father. “And now we’ve got a thing to give. Course if I hadn’t fought for it, and you hadn’t took care on it, ’twouldn’t a been alive now at all. So we’ll give it to ’em cheerful, and be glad to do it.”
This was poor comfort.
“Oh, I don’t want to give it up,” cried Becky. “I ain’t glad to let it go. I’m that fond of it.”
“Miss Maisie, she was fond of it too, wasn’t she?” said Dan.
Becky nodded. “She loved it best of the three, Miss Trevor said. But she’s got another cat, and I’ve got ne’er a one but this.”
“Maybe,” said Dan doubtfully, “I could get yer another you’d like as well in time.”