He approached with caution
Meanwhile the wood pussies, cause of all the excitement, could not understand what had happened to make the place so noisy and unsafe for them. There were strange people and strange dogs in the woods, there were shouts and gunshots and new odors. The mother, always nervous, hunted for a new den and finally moved the family to a deserted woodchuck burrow under a holly tree in the middle of the burned section of the wood, not very far from where the brush pile had once stood.
But Striped Coat did not like the change. The other young ones were quarrelsome and the new quarters were crowded. Also he missed his white crow. So after one day in the burrow he made a trip all by himself back to the barn, looking more than ever like a fur ball as, all fluffed up with excitement, he marched along the field.
Nor had his white crow disappointed him. He approached with caution and in her nest found a fine egg, with a shell thin enough for him to crack. Its luscious contents were both food and drink. Afterwards he wandered under the barn and remodelled the bed to suit his own needs. The remains of the blue night shirt he draped around the top, the socks he stuffed underneath. By morning he was curled up in the middle of the comfortable mass, fast asleep.
That day a city cousin of the Farmer, a Mrs. Simpkins, arrived by boat to get first hand details of the strange affairs which had so suddenly made the family famous. She brought as companion her son, an overgrown boy named Oswald who, having read a good many books, thought himself pretty smart, and perhaps he was. At any rate, while his mother was talking to the Farmer in the parlor, Oswald nosed about the farm.
He managed to escape disaster, except for one bee sting and a good butting from the goat, until by mere chance he wandered back of the barn and caught sight of the hole leading underneath it. Here was mystery! In true detective fashion he examined the opening and found two large hairs, one black the other white.
“A cat!” said the bright Oswald. “Maybe it has kittens under here. I’ll have a look.” Getting down on his stomach he wormed his way under the barn until, his eyes becoming used to the darkness, he could see all about. Everything was bare except in one corner. Oswald elbowed his way in that direction. Yes, he had certainly found the kittens, for here was a bed for them, all nicely made with rags!
“Pussy, pussy,” called Oswald. He did not want to surprise an angry cat. “Pussy, pussy.” And then to his joy there stood up in the middle of the nest not a big mother cat but a fluffy black kitten with white stripes on its head and neck.
Oswald’s heart gave a thump of delight. Here was just the pet for him. He would catch it and take it home. Of course his cousin the Farmer wouldn’t mind, since it was he who had found it. But he must not let it get away! Craftily advancing an arm under cover of many “pussy, pussies,” he felt the right moment had come. Around went his hand in a sudden wild grab.
“Yow-w-w-w-w!” howled Oswald as the little “kitten” gave him a musk bath precisely where it would do the most good—“Yow-w-w-w-w!”