There was joy in the heart of Dixie as she descended the ladder that led from their loft bedroom. How Carol had changed! Just one short month ago she would have sulked if Dixie were to be given some pleasure that she had not been asked to share, but to-day the small girl was actually getting up hours earlier than usual, that she might be a real help in the little home, and that Dixie need not be all tired out before starting on her wonderful journey. But, early as these two little maids were astir, Ken was ahead of them, and, just as the potatoes and bacon were sizzling for breakfast, in he came with a pail of milk.
“Girls,” he cried jubilantly, twirling his cap so dexterously that it caught on the hook by the door, just as he wished it to do, “something’s happened. Something jolly! Guess what.”
The sisters looked interested but did not venture a guess.
“Blessing is weaned!” was the astonishing announcement. “He wriggled out of his pen in the night I guess. I was awful panicky at first, thinkin’ like as not he was lost, but where d’you think I found him? In the shed, eating apples.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Carol remarked as she continued with her task, “we won’t have to bother any more about feeding him with a bottle.”
Dixie sighed, “I was hoping you’d say my cat had come back. She’s been gone three weeks if it’s a day.”
Ken laughed as he turned the milk through a sieve. “Cats always come back, sis,” he said encouragingly. Then, for a moment, he was silent as he plunged his face into a deep basin of cool water from the pump, but later, when he was rubbing vigorously with a rough towel, he winked one eye at Carol as he added: “Even if Topsy never comes back, it’s small loss. The world is full of cats.” He said it to tease, for well he knew his sister’s devotion to that particular black cat. The expected retort came:
“Why, Ken Martin, how can you say that, when you know there’s only one Topsy cat? You might as well say that if Baby Jim went away, it wouldn’t matter, ’cause the world is full of babies.”
Carol pretended to be indignant. “Dixie, how can you speak of cats and our baby all in one breath?”
A small voice arose in the next room, and the little mother flew thitherward, to return a moment later with a sleepy, flushed little four-year-old, who was covered with a long pink-flannel nightie. His golden curls were towsled, and when the little maid had seated herself and cuddled him on her lap, he beamed around at them all, but looked up into the face that was bending over him with his sweetest smile. Then, lifting his warm little hand, he patted her freckled cheek as he prattled, “Jimmy-Boy loves Dixie.”