He put down his knife, and went out into the alley to bring Weejums back, but at that moment something terrible happened. A baker’s cart, followed by a fierce dog, jingled into the alley, and the dog made a dash at Weejums. Franklin ran for the dog, and Cyclone, who happened to come around the house just then, ran after Franklin. Poor Weejums could not see that the second dog was a friend, and did not recognize Franklin in the boy who was chasing her. She left the alley and dashed across the street into a vacant lot, where three other dogs were nosing around among tin cans. They gave a yelp of delight, and joined in the pursuit, followed by several small boys, who rushed along after Franklin, shouting, “Ei-er there! Sick her, sick her!”
In a few minutes every boy and dog in the neighborhood was on Weejums’ trail, and Franklin could not stop long enough to explain to them that he himself was not chasing her. The hunt came to an end, when she vanished under some tumble-down sheds, many blocks away from home, where a friendly barn cat, with a torn nose, hid her behind a soapbox.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, when Weejums tried to thank him. “I once had a friend with eyes like yours.” And he sighed. But of course Weejums could not know that this friend had been her own dear mother.
“Just watch me do stunts with that dog,” the barn cat said. He was naturally inelegant in his language, never having lived in refined surroundings; but Weejums forgot this when she saw him leap to the back of a certain yellow cur, and claw maps on his skin, like the true knight that he was.
All the other dogs, including Cyclone, turned tail and fled, and the barn cat strolled back, with that gentle expression on his face, which it is said that great warriors usually wear.
“They didn’t see where you went in,” he said, comfortingly; “the boys are looking under the wrong shed.”
“I can never thank you for your kindness,” said Weejums, with a little break in her yow. “But I shall tell my mistress about you, and I hope you will call.”
“Does your family keep a desirable garbage pail?” asked the barn cat, thoughtfully.
“Unexcelled. But of course I eat in the kitchen.”
“Ah!” said the barn cat, with another sigh, “what it means to have a home! Now I presume that they never throw hot dishwater at you.”