Quick as the barn-cat was, old Graywhisker was quicker, and darted into a hole under the barn that was the private entrance of the rats, just as the barn-cat reached it. She had the satisfaction of clawing the tip of his tail; but it was too slippery for her to hold, and it slipped through her claws. She went back to her companions with rather a crestfallen air.
“Splendidly done, my dear creature!” said the sparrow; “you almost got him.”
“I’ll have him yet,” said the barn-cat as she washed her rumpled fur; “to think of his listening again to our conversation!”
“He can’t do any harm, fortunately,” said Mrs. Polly. “All he can do is to sneak around and play the spy.”
“I sometimes fear that he may do the little gray kitten some mischief,” said the canary; “she is so small and helpless, and Major says he has so much spite against her.”
“He wouldn’t dare to touch her,” said the barn-cat fiercely. “I wouldn’t sleep a wink till I’d paid him off if he harmed her.”
“Hush!” twittered the sparrow, “the children are coming.”
Posy appeared, dancing along in her usual happy way, with the corners of her little white apron held up with one hand and in the other a small china doll. When she reached the piazza, she let the corners of the apron fall, and out rolled the contents,—bits of bright-colored ribbon and silk and lace.
“Now, my dear Miss Pompadour,” said Posy to the china doll, “you sit right down here while your mamma makes you a beautiful ball-dress. You must be very careful of it, because it’s going to be made of my very bestest piece of silk;” and Posy held before the dolly’s eyes a piece of red ribbon with figures of gold thread embroidered on it.
“That’s gold, Miss Pompadour,” continued Posy,—“those bright yellow spots. I don’t suppose you know it, for you don’t know much, and what little you do know you don’t know for certain. And I shall make a pocket in it, because you’re very apt to lose your handkerchiefs. I showed a pocket in one of your dresses to Harry Mason the other day, and he said, ‘Ho! that isn’t a pocket! that’s only a rag of a pocket!’ I told Tom about it, and he said Harry Mason was a very unpolite boy!”