“Are you selling something?” the maid demanded. “It won’t do you any good to see Miss Alder if you’re selling something; she won’t look at samples.”
“For goodness’ sake, Agnes, are you going to stand there at the door all day?” said some one. “Either come in and close the door or go outside and finish your conversation.”
Dot glanced up and saw a face peering over the maid’s shoulder. She saw dark eyes and white hair and a rather grim mouth. But Dot smiled her friendly little smile and spoke clearly.
“How do you do, Miss Alder?” she said, as composedly as Meg would have said it. “Don’t you want a little kitten? We’re trying to find homes for them and we have––all but one.”
Now Miss Alder liked cats and she found 163 herself liking Dot. But she couldn’t unbend all at once.
“Are you sure your feet are clean?” she asked crisply. “Well, then, come in, both of you. I can’t stand all this cold air. Come into the sitting room and tell me what you call it you are doing.”
Twaddles and Dot followed her into a pleasant sunny room, with a fireplace in which a fire was merrily blazing. Miss Alder’s chair was by the window and she pointed to a sofa nearby.
“Sit down there and keep your feet on that rug,” she directed the twins. “If there is one thing I cannot stand it is to have my floors tracked up. Now what were you trying to tell me about a kitten?”
Twaddles pulled the little tiger kitten out of his coat and held it toward her.
“That’s the sample,” he said gravely. “We had seven of them––Meg and Bobby brought them home, because Mr. Fritz was going to have them drowned.”