“Did you, dear?” asked Aunt Polly, smiling. “Don’t tell me it is another shirt, Meg.”
Meg stepped back and faced the group dramatically.
“It’s a cat!” she said, and held her “find” up for them to see.
To her amazement, Linda and Jud went off into fits of laughter and even Aunt Polly seemed to be trying not to smile.
“I don’t see anything funny,” Meg announced stiffly. “It’s a poor little almost dead cat. Bobby and I found it down the brook, hanging on a tree and afraid to climb off.”
“Why, the poor little thing!” said Aunt Polly with ready sympathy. “We must take it home and feed it, Meg.”
“I’m only laughing,” Linda explained, wiping her eyes, “because it is such a distressed-looking cat, Meg. It’s so dirty and so little and so––so mad!” she finished as the cat humped up its back and spit at Twaddles who tried to stroke it.
“Stray kittens don’t make friends very readily,” said kind Aunt Polly. “They think everyone is their enemy, till proved otherwise. We 156 must teach your kitten, Meg, that at Brookside Farm we like kitty cats.”
“Where do you suppose it came from?” Bobby asked.