“Very well brought up, indeed!”
“Go on, my dear, with your story,” said Mrs. Polly, aloud. “How many were there of you?”
“There were only my brother and myself,” answered the little gray kitten. “My mother said there were two others, but they died very young,—before they had their eyes open. She said she thought they didn’t have enough to eat.”
“Well, how about your mother? I’m anxious to hear about her,” said the barn-cat.
“It makes me very sad to think about it,” continued the little gray kitten, almost crying. “One day my mother told me and my brother that she was going to teach us how to hunt. It was the first time we had been out of doors; we lived in an old shed. It was a very pleasant day, and the air was so fresh, and the birds did look so tempting— I beg your pardon,” she added, as the canary began to flutter nervously.
“Never mind; go on with your story,” said the canary good-naturedly. “It’s your nature; you aren’t to blame.”
The little gray kitten was so embarrassed by this interruption that she forgot where she had left off in her story; but then she was so very little!
“You were saying,” said Mrs. Polly, “that your mother took you out of doors to teach you to hunt.”
“Oh yes,” answered the gray kitten, “so I was. Well, it was very pleasant, and we enjoyed ourselves very much, and I caught a little field-mouse, and so did my brother; and our mother praised us, and said that after all perhaps we would turn out smarter cats than if we had been brought up to have everything we wanted, for then we might have become lazy.”
“Very true, indeed,” interrupted the barn-cat, with a triumphant glance at the house-cat. “Your mother must have been a very sensible cat!”