“Do you remember the day you came, when we were walking here, you pointed out that rock on the mountain where the poor animals had taken refuge from the snow?” said Kate suddenly.
“Yes,” answered Falkner; “they seem to have diminished. I am afraid you were right; they have either eaten each other or escaped. Let us hope the latter.”
“I looked at them with a glass every day,” said Kate, “and they've got down to only four. There's a bear and that shabby, over-grown cat you call a California lion, and a wolf, and a creature like a fox or a squirrel.”
“It's a pity they're not all of a kind,” said Falkner.
“Why?”
“There'd be nothing to keep them from being comfortable together.”
“On the contrary, I should think it would be simply awful to be shut up entirely with one's own kind.”
“Then you believe it is possible for them, with their different natures and habits, to be happy together?” said Falkner, with sudden earnestness.
“I believe,” said Kate hurriedly, “that the bear and the lion find the fox and the wolf very amusing, and that the fox and the wolf—”
“Well?” said Falkner, stopping short.