I hate your hens.
Your loving sister Eunice.
But the next day something happened that cured John Alden forever of imposing upon those weaker than himself. He noticed a strange cat taking dinner with the others, and thought, “Ah, here’s the chance for me! The natural shyness of this visitor will prevent him from resenting any intrusion.” And, with a haughty stride, he landed in their midst.
The strange cat looked up, planted one paw firmly on the piece of fried potato he was eating, and clawed out one of Johnny’s eyes.
The assault was so unexpected that Johnny could only stagger one-sidedly away, and sit down in the drinking pan to recover his balance. He knew that no hen could ever admire him again, and that the slowest caterpillar would be able to evade his peck. It was terrible.
Fortunately Biddy had seen the attack from the window, and was able to testify that none of the family cats had done it.
“It was a cat with a nose that dishgraced the Hivin he sat under,” she said. “But, oh, the shplendid foight in him! He was loike a definder of innocence.”
Eunice was sorry for Johnny, but felt that her cats had been avenged, and stole out that evening to make friends with the defender of innocence.
He was skulking under a neighbor’s barn, and peered out at her with unfriendly, suspicious eyes set in scratched lids. Eunice had seen “Thomas” cats before,—those with broad bland noses who sit out in front of fish-shops and have self-respect,—but she had never met such a cat as this.
“He doesn’t seem to like me,” she thought, feeling rather hurt. “Come, poor kitty, kitty, and get some milk!”