When they came back in the fall, Grandmother went down first to open the house, and, of course, Eunice asked for Weejums almost before she was inside the door.
“Well, she’s busy just now,” said Grandmother, with a funny look; “but she sent word for you to look behind the barrel in the woodshed.”
Eunice and Kenneth ran as fast as they could, wondering why Weejums did not come to meet them. And then they heard a purr—such a loud, proud purr! Eunice thought that they heard it in the dining-room; but Kenneth said it was not until they reached the kitchen. But it was Weejums’ purr, and it came from behind the barrel in the woodshed!
Eunice looked at Weejums, and Weejums looked at Eunice, and Mother and Grandmother came out and looked at them both. Then Eunice took three little squealing rolls of fur into her lap, and kissed three tiny pink noses, warm and moist with sleep. And Weejums forgot all about her kittens, in the joy of seeing Eunice again.
“They were born at the farm, two weeks ago,” Grandmother said, “and came down in a basket last night.”
“Don’t you think,” asked Eunice, in an awestruck tone, “that she’s very young to be a mother?”
“It really looks so,” said Grandmother, seriously; “because she seems to love you a great deal better than she does the kittens!”
Weejums was rolling over and over in her delight, and jumping in and out of the box to rub against Eunice’s face. And whenever she jumped, her purr jolted up into a funny little squeak that came down when she did.
“One is black with white edgings,” said Eunice, in a rapturous whisper, “and one is yellow and white, with mittens.”
“Yes, those are extra toes like a thumb,” said Grandmother. “There’s a cat up at the farm with toes like that.”