“Well, I found her!” said Marian, triumphantly; “so don’t feel bad any more. I found her—do you hear? She’s at Auntie’s house now, and you can take her right home.”
“Would you mind telling me where you got the cat?” asked Mrs. Slocum, politely, of Mrs. Wood.
“In Alleston, where we lived,” was the answer. “She came to us in such a strange way—” and she started to tell the story of the Alley Cat, but Mrs. Slocum interrupted her quite excitedly.
“In Alleston, did you say? Why, we have relatives in Alleston, and Octavia has visited there with us, haven’t you, pusskins? And she had some kittens there too, but they all died, that is, all except a hideous brindled thing that ran away. We’ve always felt ashamed of that kitten.”
“Then if Octavia’s kitten was brindle, our cat that the little girl found is Octavia’s grandchild,” said Mrs. Wood; “we’ve always felt that Weejums must have good blood, although she is sometimes a little brusque in her manners.”
“Can’t you all come home to luncheon with me?” asked Mrs. Armstrong, “and see your cat? After all, it may not be the same one. It would be too extraordinary if it was.”
“We’ll come and see you with pleasure,” said Mrs. Wood, thanking her; “but the children were to meet their uncle for luncheon at Dorlon’s. He has promised them a lobster, and I’m hoping that this excitement over Weejums will make them forget it.”
So after they had admired a few more of the cats, particularly the Angoras, which looked, Kenneth said, “as if their fur needed weeding,” the whole party took the Elevated to West 81st Street, and walked over to Mrs. Armstrong’s house, opposite the Park, where, in an upper window, lined with Nile-green pillows, a familiar form was balanced upon a pot of white azalea, catching flies.
“It is!” cried Eunice, giving Marian a hug. “Yes, it is!”
“Are you sure?” asked Marian, a little disappointed. “I was almost hoping it wouldn’t be, so that I could keep her. She’s so sweet, you know!”