“The other boys were in it, too,” whined the culprit, squirming, “only they ran away.”
“That doesn’t excuse you,” answered Mr. Drew sternly. “I have a notion to tie the tin can on you. ‘It’s only for a joke,’ you know. That is what you told me.”
“No, no,” whimpered the boy, jerking and twisting about. “Let me go. I’ll give you five cents if you do. I’ll give you ten cents if you let me go.” And he pulled from his pocket a handful of coins and held them out on his grimy palm.
“Is it yours?” asked Mr. Drew. “Is it your money?”
The boy nodded.
“Good!” said Mr. Drew. “Then I’ll take it.” And he coolly slipped the coins into his pocket.
“Now,” said he to the boy, tightening his grip on his collar, “you come with me, and we will spend this money on a treat for poor pussy. And you shall watch her enjoy it, too.”
When Mr. Drew returned with his unwilling companion, he found Madame Bonnet composedly knitting in her chair, the rest of the group eyeing pussy, still motionless in her corner.
“Now, Tim,” said Parson Drew cheerfully, to his sulky, red-haired friend, “you shall have the pleasure of giving pussy the milk and the cat-meat which you bought for her with your money.”
Tim silently spread the feast and retreated a few steps.