She swung herself lightly to the lowest branch, chinned herself, and climbed the tree. In another minute she had rescued the kitten with her hands.
“Stretch on your tiptoes, Jane,” she called to her chum, “and see if I can hand it down to you.”
The other girl, who was much shorter and stockier than Mary Louise, did as she was told, but the distance was too great.
“I suppose I’ll have to climb down with her in one hand,” concluded Mary Louise. “That’s not so easy.”
“Drop her over to that branch you swung up by, and I’ll get her from there,” suggested Jane.
A moment later Mary Louise was at her chum’s side, stroking the little black kitten, now purring contentedly in Jane’s arms.
“I wonder whose it is,” she remarked. “There isn’t any house near——”
“Except old Miss Grant’s.”
Both girls turned and looked at the hill which rose at the right of the lonely road on which they had been walking. The house, a large drab plaster building, was barely visible through the dark cedars that surrounded it on all sides. A high, thick hedge, taller than an average-sized man, gave the place an even greater aspect of gloominess and seclusion.
“Maybe it is Miss Grant’s kitten,” suggested Jane. “Old maids are supposed to like cats, you know.”