“Oh! I’ve come a long, long way,” said the gray kitten in a sad little voice, “all the way from the other side of the town, and I am very tired.”
“Why didn’t you stay at home?” said the barn-cat. “Home’s the best place for young people.”
“I haven’t got any home,” sighed the gray kitten.
“That’s a likely story,” said the barn-cat shortly. “Where’s your mother? She must be a nice kind of a mother not to provide a home for her children. Every cat can do that.”
“I haven’t got any mother,” said the little gray kitten sadly.
The barn-cat gave her nose a sharp rub with her paw,—a habit she had when her feelings were touched.
“Well, you live somewhere, I suppose. Who gives you food? You can’t live on air.”
“Last night I slept in a hollow tree,” said the gray kitten, “and I assure you I don’t get much to eat. If it hadn’t been for a little girl sharing her food with me, I should have starved long ago, for I am ’most blind and can’t see well enough to make my own living.”
“I should like to hear your story,” said the barn-cat, “and then we’ll see what can be done for you. Let me see—” and she rubbed her ear in a contemplative way. “I think we’d better let Mrs. Polly and the canary hear your story, too. They are both pretty wise, and three heads are better than one any day. There comes that house-cat; she’s nobody.”
So the barn-cat led the way to the open window where the parrot’s and canary’s cages were hanging.