Eleanor W. F. Bates.
THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER I.—The Baby’s Danger.
THE OLD WHITE MANSION.
There was a day in her baby-life that little Mary Ellen always spoke of as “my first day.”
“It was when I was a little crib-baby, a little bye-o-baby, you know,” Mary Ellen would say.
Mary Ellen meant it was the first day she could remember.
She remembered it by two things—it was the first time she ever heard her pretty mama scream, and the first time she ever got her little hands into the fur of a cat.
Mary Ellen was in her crib, in the pretty baby-room of the big white mansion, called “The House of the Grandmothers.” A pink rosebush was growing in a blue-and-white pot, a yellow canary hung in the window, and the sunshine was streaming in over everything. Mary Ellen was lying awake, looking at the pretty window, when all at once something made her turn her eyes.
There, on the foot-rail, sat some beautiful, furry, bright-eyed creatures, looking at her, and making the most lovely noise. She smiled at them, saying, “goo-goo-goo.” At that, one of them hopped down on the quilt, then came closer, blinking its green eyes and still making the lovely noise. Mary Ellen’s tiny body gave a quick little spring, and—O, delightful!—her hands grabbed into the soft warm fur of a kitty.