"Lost your kittens, Greta? Well, now, that's too bad. Maybe I can help you find them."
So old Peter took his hoe and he started poking among the flower beds, too. He poked and he poked, but not a kitten did he find. Greta got down on her hands and knees and looked and looked, but not a kitten did she find. And Chouse poked and scratched and dug up the earth, but not a kitten did he find. The kittens just weren't there.
Every evening, between nine and ten o'clock, the family gathered in the living room for coffee. This was an old, old custom in Denmark, where the people like coffee better than any other drink. Greta was usually in bed by nine o'clock, but since there was no school the next day, her mother let her stay up with the rest of the family. Instead of coffee, Greta had a bowl of strawberries and cream. They were large, sweet berries, fresh from the strawberry patch on the farm. June was the strawberry month in Denmark. They seemed to grow everywhere, and everyone ate them, three or four times a day.
Greta said hardly a word all evening. She was afraid to ask her father what he was going to do with Chouse. Maybe he would forget the whole matter if nothing were said about it. And she didn't mention the kittens, for that would bring up the subject of Chouse.
Greta's mother noticed that the little girl was unusually quiet.
"Greta, how would you like to have Anna come and visit you this summer?" her mother asked.
"Oh, Mother, that would be wonderful." Greta's face was one big smile. Anna was her cousin, and she lived in Copenhagen. Four years ago she had spent the summer on the farm with Greta and Hans, and the three children had had fun together all summer long.
