"For pity's sake!" he gasped. "What is that?"
"It's Petal," shrilled Dot. "An' she's felled into the merlasses and got herself all feathers."
At that her sisters burst out laughing. It was too bad the little cat was so frightened, but it was too comical for anything!
"You don't call that a cat?" demanded Neale, when he could control his own risibilities.
"Of course it's a cat," said Tess, rather warmly. "You know Ruthie's Popocatepetl, Neale—you know you do."
"But a thing with feathers, roosting in a tree, must be some kind of a fowl—yes?" asked Neale, with gravity.
"It's a cat-bird," announced Agnes.
The younger girls could not see any fun in the situation. Poor Petal, clinging to the high branch of the tree, and faintly mewing, touched their hearts, so Neale went up like a professional acrobat and after some difficulty brought the frightened cat down.
"She'll have to be plucked just like a chicken," declared Ruth. "Did you ever see such a mess in all your life?"
Neale held the cat so she could not scratch, and Agnes and Ruth "plucked" her and wiped off the molasses as best they could. But it was several days before Popocatepetl was herself again.