“One what?” asked Little Dog.
“One new leaf.”
“What do you want of a new leaf?”
“I want to turn it over, but there just aren’t any to turn.”
“Of course there aren’t!” said Little Dog. “It is winter.”
“But Little Girl is going to find one,” said Little Cat. “I heard her mother say to her, ‘You really must turn over a new leaf!’ and she said, ‘I truthfully will, Mamma!’ and when Little Girl says she truthfully will she always does. Then her mother kissed her, and said everybody had to turn over new leaves now, and she had some of her own to turn, so she knew just how it was. The door shut then—on the tip of my tail, too—and I heard no more; but what do you suppose it means?”
Little Dog shook his head. “We must ask somebody,” he said. “Let me see! Great Old Dog is out for a walk, and Crosspatch Parrot bit me the last time I asked her a question.”
“I know,” said Little Cat. “We will ask Old Cat in the Barn. She knows a good many things, and if she isn’t catching rats—but she generally is—she will tell us.”