Madame Bonnet, completely forgetting her bad knee, mounted her chair in a twinkling and stood holding her skirts about her feet, calling—
“Help! Help! Help!”
Susan, clutching tight to her eggshell baby, tried to climb up into Grandfather’s arms, while Phil, making himself as small as possible, hid under a convenient table.
Grandfather was peering into the dark corner where the clattering object, now silent and motionless, could be faintly seen.
Suddenly Grandfather put back his head and laughed.
“It’s a cat,” said he; “a poor forlorn little gray cat. And we were all afraid of a cat.”
He gave a second look, and then he spoke in a different tone.
“Tut, tut, tut,” said Grandfather, as if he were angry.
He gently moved toward the trembling pussy, but before Madame Bonnet could step down from her chair or Phil come out from under the table, in from the street walked Mr. Drew, whom no one had missed until now. He held by the coat-collar a freckled, red-headed boy, and he was pushing him along in no very gentle way.
“This is the boy who did the deed,” said Mr. Drew, and he sounded angry in the same way Grandfather did. “I thought I would catch him enjoying his fun if I stepped outside, and, sure enough, there he was, doubled up with laughter and slapping himself on the knee at the joke. A fine joke,” added Mr. Drew, giving the boy a little shake, “a fine joke—tormenting a poor cat.”