Sam put the soft bundle of gray fur into Meg’s arms, and Philip sat down on the grass and tried to look patient. He foresaw that he would have to wait for his breakfast.
“She’s your cat,” Sam announced. “Leastways, I told Norah when you got home you were to have her. Her name is Annabel Lee.”
“Annabel Lee!” repeated the astonished Meg. “Did you name her, Sam?”
“I certainly did,” answered Sam proudly. “Your father read me one of your letters where you said your Aunt Polly’s cat was named ‘Poots’; and I said then and there our cat was going to have a poetry name. And she’s got it.”
“It’s a very nice name,” said Bobby. “But does Norah know we have a cat?”
Whenever the four little Blossoms had teased 16 for a cat, Norah had always flatly declared she wouldn’t have one within a mile of her kitchen; and the children knew that a cat that was never allowed in a kitchen could not expect to be happy. So they had managed to get along without such a pet.
“This cat,” announced Sam mysteriously, “was sent for by Norah. She wants it. In fact, she as much as said she wouldn’t stay if your father didn’t get a cat.”