Maisie looked thoughtful.
“The grey kitten’s very nice and affectionate,” she said, “though it isn’t pretty. It won’t have advantages though, because it’s got to go and do hard work.”
“What hard work?” asked Philippa.
“It’s going to catch mice for old Sally’s Eliza,” replied Maisie, “so of course it can’t sleep in any one’s bed—it will have to be up all night. And I don’t suppose it will have meals exactly except what it picks up. And I’m sure it won’t wear a collar and a bell, because that would frighten the mice away.”
“Blanche will be better off than that,” said Philippa; “she’ll be a lady.”
“We shall be able to see, shan’t we,” said Maisie, “what sort of cats they are when they grow up. And then we can settle which is the best—Darkie, or Blanche, or the grey one.”
“What do you mean by the best?” said Philippa. “Do you mean the prettiest?”
“Oh dear, no,” said Maisie. She pondered the question for some minutes, and then added seriously: “I mean the one that’s the greatest comfort to the person it belongs to.”