“If I can find Darkie,” repeated Maisie, “you should see him beg. He does it most beautifully.”
“Fancy!” said Philippa, with a slight drawl and a little laugh. “Well, Blanche doesn’t need to beg for anything. She gets all she wants without that.—Where’s Dennis?”
Maisie repeated the story of Tuvvy and the Round Robin, and Philippa laughed again.
“What odd things you do,” she said. “Mother says you’re not a bit like other people.”
Maisie had been searching in vain for Darkie in all his usual haunts, and calling him at intervals, but no kitten appeared; there was only old Madam curled up in the sun, blinking in lazy comfort.
“I’m afraid I shan’t find him,” she said, with a disappointed face. “He’s such a cunning cat. He knows we want to teach him things, so he often hides. Very likely he’s watching us now, somewhere quite near. But I did so want you to see him beg.”
“Why do you teach him things?” asked Philippa, “It must be a great trouble to you, and he doesn’t like it either.”
“Oh, but it’s good for him to learn,” said Maisie. “It makes him obedient and well-behaved.—Don’t you teach Blanche anything?”
“Oh dear, no,” said Philippa. “She would scratch me if I tried, directly.”
Maisie looked grave. “Do you think Blanche is growing a nice cat?” she asked presently.