“Uncle Kissel is a man of honesty and probity. He has never robbed or cheated any man.”
“He wastes nothing upon luxuries!” Gretli added; her tone, though gentler, was still one of distinct rebuke. “His fare is that of a hermit, and hermits are holy men.”
A silence followed. The Twins continued to look at Zitli, but their look was now one of expectation. It was evident that they waited for him to speak. But Zitli’s brow was clouded, and a dogged look crept over his thin, intelligent face. Honor looked from one to the other in wonder, but dared not break the silence.
“Come, my little one!” said Gretli, presently, in an encouraging tone. “A word, is it not so? We wait, thy brother and I. Thou art not wont to make us wait, Zitli.”
“There is nothing more to say!” muttered Zitli sullenly. “You have said all there was.”
The silence fell again: Honor began to be frightened. What was going to happen? The Twins sat like two mighty statues, grave, austere, expectant. Zitli sat looking at his tools, the picture of mute obstinacy. The clock ticked on the wall. There was no other sound.
Suddenly, from nowhere, as it seemed, a cat appeared, leaped lightly up on Zitli’s table, proceeded to turn round and round, purring loudly, finally curled herself up in a gray ball among the tools and went to sleep. At first sight of the creature, the boy’s face relaxed. He bent over her, caressing, murmuring words of affection, then suddenly he looked up, and his own sunny smile broke out.
“He has a cat!” he announced. “Uncle Kissel has a cat, and he feeds her; I saw him one day. Will that do, Brother and Sister?”
Gretli was her own beaming self again; she threw an appealing glance at Atli, and met one equally benign.
“Kindness to animals!” she cried. “That is a virtue, if you will. All is now well, little one beloved; thy word is the best of the three. And now,” she added, rising, “it is thy bed-time, Zitli, and also Mademoiselle Honor must seek rest. Let us thank the all-merciful Father for another day!”