Hardly stopping to think why Trouble should claim as his the pussy that was crying in the night, Mrs. Martin started out of the cabin. Her husband, sleeping in the other cabin with Ted, heard her and asked:
“What’s the matter?”
“Trouble heard a cat crying. It’s out in the rain. He wants me to bring it in,” his wife answered.
“A cat?” questioned Mr. Martin. Then with a little chuckle he added: “I hope it isn’t a wildcat.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Ted, suddenly awakening. “A wildcat? Have we got a gun to shoot it?”
“Now don’t get excited,” laughed his father. “This is a tame cat, I guess. I’ll go out and get it.”
Slipping on his rubber coat, for it was still raining, Mr. Martin went out on deck. Near the porthole, which was open a little way, but not far enough to allow the cat to enter, was a crying, wet pussy, mewing pitifully.
“You poor little thing!” exclaimed Mr. Martin, who was as fond of animals as were his children. “We’ll take care of you. But I wonder how you got here?”
The Pine Tree was anchored some distance out from shore, and there was no plank laid out on which the little cat might have crossed.
“I guess she fell into the lake and drifted down until she caught hold of our anchor rope,” said Mr. Martin, as he brought the drenched pussy down into the cabin. “She climbed up on the rope and so reached the deck.”