“A CHRISTMAS PRESENT, WITH EUNICE’S LOVE”
Down on the rug Weejums was busily washing Octavius, the beautiful kitten who was to go as a Christmas present, with Eunice’s love, to Marian Armstrong. Weejums did not know why he was named Octavius, or that it was her own grandparent on whom she had called in New York, and at whom she had spit.
“Weejums!” called Mrs. Wood, softly, “dear little kitty, come and speak to me!”
Weejums rose with an answering purr, and, leaving Octavius asleep in a ring of his own baby tail, leaped upon her lap. It seemed to Mrs. Wood that Weejums’ attitude towards the children had changed since she grew older, and her kittens came. At first she had thought Eunice was her mother; but now she realized that Eunice was only a kitten, after all, and that Mrs. Wood was nearer her own age.
They sat watching the fire together until the coals whitened, and the clock slowly struck twelve. Then Mrs. Wood gave a few last touches to the stockings hung in the shadows, and went upstairs. But as she entered her room, there was a sound of soft little paws beside her, and a comforting “Pu-r-r-eow!” in the darkness, for Weejums had left her kitten, and gone with the companion who needed her most.
“She never followed me like this before,” Mrs. Wood thought. “Is it possible that she knew I was lonely to-night,—that she felt a difference?”
Weejums did not explain what she thought, but when Mrs. Wood was in bed, curled down beside her with a drowsy purr most soothing to hear.
“I’m glad she’s here,” thought Eunice’s mother. “I don’t feel much like sleep to-night, and it’s nice to have—somebody.”
“Purr-pu-r-r,” said Weejums, softly. “Purr-r-r-r.”