“Oh, stop! stop!” cried Maisie. “Wait for me. I want to hear very much; I’ll go with you to the gate. Do stop a minute.”
She struggled frantically as she spoke with the string of her apron, which was tied securely round her neck, and her voice was so pleading, that Philippa was softened. She was still cross with Dennis, who painted away, and did not care a bit; but it was difficult to be angry with Maisie, and when the apron was at last torn off, the two little girls ran across the field together towards the house.
Philippa’s story turned out to be so very satisfactory and interesting. It seemed to clear away all doubt as to the whereabouts of the grey kitten. Maisie’s eager questions and exclamations of pleasure were more than enough to satisfy her and make her feel quite good-tempered again.
“Did it seem happy?” inquired Maisie, as they drew near the gate. “Do you think it’s got a good home?”
“Becky said,” replied Philippa, “that it did not get much to eat sometimes, and it’s a very ugly little house they live in; but she’s very fond of it, and it’s fond of her too.”
“Then I expect it’s all right,” said Maisie; “it was always a dear little contented thing.”
“She said it was her greatest comfort,” added Philippa. “Wasn’t it odd she should say that? It made me think of you and wonder if it was yours, and so I came straight off to tell you after I heard it was a stray kitten.”
“Won’t you come with me to-morrow?” asked Maisie. “You see you know Becky now, and I’ve never seen her.”
Philippa quite approved of this. She would ask Miss Mervyn to bring her half-way to meet Maisie, and they would make the visit together.
“And I daresay Dennis will come too, if he’s done painting,” said Maisie.