“Oh, Auntie, I hope no one will answer the advertisement,” said Marian, squeezing the basket. “Only think of having an Octavia for my very own!”
“Well, we’ll see you to-morrow,” said Mrs. Slocum, as her guests took their leave, and parting spits were exchanged between the two ladies of tortoise-shell complexion.
So it happened that when Mrs. Wood and her children stopped, in utter joy and astonishment, before Octavia’s cage at the Cat Show, they received a cordial welcome from two strange ladies and a little girl.
“It’s Weejums!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood, and Franklin in the same breath.
“It’s Weejums!” said Kenneth. “Somebody stole her and fixed her up for the show!”
“Doesn’t she look whacking!” said Franklin. “They’re not going to keep her, though. Somebody will be arrested for this!”
“It’s not, either,” said Eunice, struggling to keep back the tears, for at first she too had thought it was. “Don’t you see—her expression is entirely different?”
It’s a wise child that knows its own cat, and Eunice, the little mother, could not be deceived in her Weejums.
“Have you lost a kitty?” asked Marian, taking Eunice by the hand. “A sweet kitty that looks just like this one? And do you live in Montrose? I think I saw your brother on the street.”
“Yes—yes, yes,” answered Eunice to each question. “Weejums fell through the floor on to an old lady’s head, and—” this was almost too much to recount—“the old lady chased her out of the house. She didn’t come home last night.”