“I don’t believe Posy could see any animal suffer. I saw her sprinkle some crumbs down in front of a hole one day, and say, ‘These are for the little mice to eat.’”
“Oh, yes! you take her part, do you?” said old Graywhisker, fiercely glaring at the poor little mouse. “If that is your opinion, you just clear out of my barn. I want you to understand that I won’t have any hypocrites around these premises.”
“You can’t call me a hypocrite,” said the little mouse meekly; “I only said that Posy was a kind-hearted child. I am sure I dislike the barn-cat as much as you do, and it gives me great uneasiness to think there’s another of that species on the premises if she is half blind. I am afraid our children will get careless, thinking she can’t see them, and some day venture too near. I am sure I shall never have another easy moment;” and Mrs. Silverskin looked more anxious than ever.
“Here comes Sharpears creeping along this way,” called out Silvertail from the window.
The whole company looked anxiously in the direction of their private entrance, and Sharpears soon appeared at the opening.
“Well,” said old Graywhisker impatiently, “what did you hear?”
“In the first place,” began Sharpears, “Major has been complaining that we eat too many of his oats. He says that when the barn-cat’s away we bother him so that he can’t take any comfort in his eating.”
“He eats too much,” said Graywhisker; “that’s what’s the matter with him. Just hear him snore! He’ll go off in a fit of apoplexy one of these days! I wish he would!”
“The barn-cat said she did her best; that she knew the rats and mice did take advantage of her absence, but that she was going to train the gray kitten to watch while she was away.”
“We’ll fix that gray kitten,” snarled the old rat, bringing his long yellow teeth together in a very unpleasant manner.