The bag was in the woodshed and it was such a dirty old bag––made of canvas that looked as though it had been carried for years and never washed––that involuntarily Bobby held it at arms’ length from him.
“They won’t bite you,” said Charlie scornfully, thinking he was afraid of the kittens––they could be heard mewing inside the bag.
“What is the man’s name and where does he live?” Meg asked quietly.
“Ah, I was only fooling––he doesn’t care what happens to those old cats,” said Charlie. “It’s Mr. Fritz––over on Beech Street. He’s cross enough anyway without being asked a lot of extra questions.”
But Meg was determined to see Mr. Fritz and she made Bobby go around to Beech Street with her.
“It’s just as Charlie said––they are his kittens,” she argued. “And of course if he says they have to be drowned they have to be: only we won’t do it.” 144
“Don’t you want to look at them?” asked Bobby, swinging the bag gently.
Meg shook her head.
“Not if somebody has to drown them,” she said.
Mr. Fritz lived in a large old-fashioned house, set back from the street. When the children rang the door bell a deaf woman who did all the housework for him––he was an old bachelor––came to the door.