“Nine more days,
And then comes a birthday,”
the Kitten sang, over and over, making different tunes each time. She sang it softly, to herself, but it was loud enough to be heard.
“Dear-my-soul!” said the Princess. “Whatever will happen when you’re a seven-year-longlegs, ’stead of six? Skeeters, you know.”
The Kitten stopped singing and rubbed her leg where there were lumpy spots above her socks.
“She’ll have stockings when they get too long,” said Pat.
“And the next thing we know, she’ll begin to be a Cat! Why don’t you have birthdays like the Star People’s?”
“What kind?” asked the Kitten.
“Steady and reliable,” said the Princess. “Everybody is exactly the right age to begin, and then they never grow any older.”
“But they are different ages,” Pat objected.