“You can be sure she is under shelter somewhere. A cat can always look out for herself.”
“But, mother, I’m worried about her.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Owen, as she put the oatmeal into the double-boiler, “that she has gone back to her old home.”
“But, mother dear, she couldn’t like strange people better than she likes us!”
“Cats are strange creatures,” said Mrs. Owen. “Run along and get dressed. After breakfast if the rain holds up you and Alice can run over to the Hortons’ house and telephone to the Carters’, to see if she is there. I shall be glad when we get our telephone in.”
The rain did not stop, but the children were so persistent that after breakfast Mrs. Owen let them put on their rubbers and raincoats and run over to the Hortons’ house. The house was up a long avenue of trees. On this March day there were no leaves on the trees, and the bare branches looked black against the gray sky as they were tossed about by the wind. There were patches of snow by the side of the road. It all looked very dismal, for the house was closed, as the family did not come back until June, and only the care-takers were living in the back part of the house. It was where Clara lived in the summer. She was the children’s most intimate friend. She was a little more than a year younger than Peggy and about a year older than Alice. The children went around to the back door and asked if they could come in and telephone.
“It is something very important or we would not have come,” said Peggy.
“I hope your mother isn’t sick,” said Mrs. Jones.
“No, it is about the cat.”
“And you came out in all this rain about a cat?”