Aunt Maude had no children of her own, but loved the little Woods very dearly, and explained to their mother quite often how they ought to be brought up.
They were to stay a day or two with Mrs. Wood’s brother, and then go to a boarding-house in Montrose, to wait until their own cottage was ready, for Mrs. Wood did not believe in making long visits, with a family of children.
Weejums was more than glad when they left New York, for of course she had not gone to any of the theatre and Eden Musée parties with Uncle Rob, or been invited to have an ice-cream soda. And it was not interesting, either, to walk in a tiny brick yard crowded with clothes-lines, or feel one’s way along a fence so narrow that if another cat came along, you either had to back away, or stay and fight it out.
But the boarding-house in Montrose attracted her because it had so large a yard, and she thought it would be pleasant to lie always on red velvet chairs, and walk through swinging bead portieres that tickled one’s tail. But this was before she had met Mrs. Winslow.
“I don’t care for tortoise-shell cats,—do you?” asked one of the old ladies who did fancy-work on the piazza.
“No, Mrs. Winslow is white,” said another.
“And a cat that won’t purr for strangers, either,” added the first old lady, with a reproachful glance at Weejums, who sat “back-to” on the steps.
“MRS. WINSLOW”
“Mrs. Winslow will purr for any one,” said the other.