"Ronnie Rose," was the prompt answer. "What is yours?"
"Gwennie Rose, and I'm seven years old."
"So am I," answered the boy, "and we know lots about your family, though you've only been here two days, and Hugh says we are enemies, and we've got to fight."
"What a wicked boy he must be!" exclaimed Gwennie.
Ronnie was up in arms in a moment. How dare the girl with the big eyes call his brother wicked!
The kitten at this moment showed signs of wishing to make friends with Ronnie, and as he had no desire to resist its overtures, he took the fluffy little ball into his arms.
"You won't hurt my Fluffy, will you, Ronnie?" she asked pleadingly.
"No, I love kittens," he answered, stroking the soft fur to pussy's supreme content. Then he proceeded, though in a more gentle tone—
"Hugh is going to fight your big brother, and Frank the younger one, and I am to fight you."
The little girl, really alarmed, got up from her seat and was about to run home.