“Oh, I don’t want the cat to get it.”
“Yes, you do. There ain’t a thing else to do. Here, kitty! Puss, puss, puss!”
“But I tell you I don’t want—”
“Yes you do, too, Julie. Here, kitty, kitty! You got to do it, Julie! There ain’t another thing to do with ’em. Pus-sie! Puss, puss!”
Julie’s big black cat came running in on soft eager feet.
“Here, pussie!” Mrs. Anderson called.
“No, don’t! Please don’t!” Julie begged. “Scat! scat out of here, Blackie!”
But as the cat paused in the doorway, looking uncertainly from one to the other, half crouched, with green eyes glinting and tail lashing, Mrs. Anderson dragged it forward by the scruff of the neck, and in an instant the combination was effected. There was a pounce, a last shriek of supreme agony from the fledgling, and with a growl the cat ran out of the room, the bird in its mouth.
Julie leaned against the counter, swallowing convulsively.
“Julie! for mercy sake! you know that was the onliest thing to do. When they come down the chimney like that, you just have to give ’em to the cat. There ain’t another thing to do.”