“Oh, I hope so,” he replied cheerfully. “But it takes time, and it’s dull and lonely for her, you see, while her people are out at work all day.”
“Is she all alone?” asked Maisie. “Hasn’t she got any one to be with her?”
“Well, she’s got a kitten,” answered Dr Price, “and that seems a comfort to her, but that’s about all. By the way, Miss Maisie,” he added, “how are all your cats? What became of the kitten you offered me some time back?”
“Oh,” said Maisie sorrowfully, “didn’t you hear about it? We gave it to old Sally’s Eliza at Upwell, and it ran out through the front shop and got lost in the streets. Aunt Katharine doesn’t think we shall hear of it again now. It was such a dear little kitten; not pretty like Darkie, but very good and sweet, and purred more than any of them.”
“That was a bad job,” said the doctor sympathetically.
“Is Tuvvy’s little girl’s kitten a pretty one?” asked Maisie.
“Well, as to that,” he replied slowly, “it looked to me about like other cats, but then I didn’t notice it much, you see, because I’m not so fond of ’em as you are. If it had been a dog now, I could have told you all its points at once. The little girl—Becky her name is—was very fond of it, that’s quite certain.”
Deeply interested, Maisie secretly wondered what the “points” of a dog were, and concluded that they must mean its paws and the tip of its tail. After a minute’s silence she put another question, rather sternly.
“What colour was it? You must have seen that.”
Dr Price looked quite cast down by this severe examination.