But the little white cat looked down at her, as much as to say, “No, indeed, you don’t catch me as long as those dreadful boys are there.”
“I’ll get her,” shouted Joel, running across the kitchen to the old table and preparing to drag it over.
“Stop, Joel!” commanded Polly, running after him.
“I’m going to put a chair on it; then I can reach her,” screamed Joel, with a very red face, tugging away at the table.
“No, no, you mustn’t, Joe,” commanded Polly.
“O dear,—dear!” Little Davie was wringing his hands helplessly and turning first to Phronsie and then to Joel in distress.
“We must just let her alone; she’ll come down herself by and by.” Polly ran over to say this to Phronsie.
“But I want my little white kitty now, Polly, I do,” said Phronsie, in a sorrowful little voice.
“I know, Pet, it’s too bad she’s up there—but she’ll come down by and by,” said Polly, reassuringly, and craning her neck at the little white cat, who sat serenely on her perch. “Let’s go off and play something,” she proposed suddenly.
“Oh, I couldn’t play, Polly,” said Phronsie, reproachfully. “I want my little white cat.”