“Just like a croak,” said Tompkins. “I wonder who it can be.”
But the little kitchen kittens didn’t wonder, they knew it was their old mother, Tibby, who had missed her babies and was calling for them. They liked her ugly voice and they answered with little mews, and one by one they scuttled out of the room. Ugly was the last to go and he just lapped up a drop of milk on his way, for he never neglected an opportunity.
A few minutes after, the cook came in to find Mary’s mother, and of course, caught sight at once of the disgraceful looking tray. She was shocked to see it in such a state, with the sugar scattered about and a nasty sticky mess where the milk had been lapped up.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” she cried, trying to tidy up, “whoever has done this?”
“Miaou, miaou,” said Tompkins, which meant “not us.”
Cook turned round and saw the kittens. “Well, of all the impudent little thieves!” she cried, “so you must go and steal the milk, must you? You little good-for-nothings!”
“No, really it wasn’t us,” mewed Minette.
But, of course, cook couldn’t understand cat language and she went on scolding. “You deserve a good whipping, that you do, and I’ve a great mind to give it you, greedy little things, when you get as much to eat as ever you can swallow.”
