“Inna: is that short for anything?”
“Yes—for Peninnah: papa’s mother’s name is Peninnah; and so, and so——”
“And so your father chose to let you play grandmother to yourself in the matter of names?”
[p14]
“Yes,” a little ripple of a word full of laughter—her companion was so funny.
“Now guess what’s in this hamper?” was Dick’s next proposition; “that’s safe ground, you know, to guess over a hamper when the owner bids you,” he added, by way of encouragement.
“A kitten.” The train was carrying them on again, without any intruder to cut off the thread of their talk, except the guard, who put his head in at the window, and beamed a smile on Inna, as her caretaker; then he shut the door, and locked them in, and here was the train tearing on again.
“Well, now, you are a good guesser for a girl,” said Dick.
“I didn’t guess: I knew it. I heard her mew,” smiled Inna.
“Ah! Miss Inna is a little pitcher, pussy; she has sharp ears,” said pussy’s master, peering and speaking through the hamper.
“Me—e—e—w!” came like a prolonged protest against all the hurry-scurry and noise, so confusing to a kitten shut up in a hamper, not knowing why nor whither she was travelling.