“I was about to say that Bidelia may use my blanket to-night,” said Wutz-Butz. “I shall stay awake and watch. By to-morrow night she will have her own house all furnished.”
“You are most kind, Wutz-Butz,” said Bidelia, feeling rather ashamed that she had looked down on Wutz-Butz, thinking him only a stupid soldier. She curled herself down at once on his red flannel and drew the three kittens to her, one under her forepaw, one close to her head, and one tucked away under her chin—this was Dolly Varden, the smallest and sweetest of the three.
Kiku-san and Ban-Ban laid down close together in Kiku’s crocheted shawl. Kiku was very silent, and even Ban-Ban had nothing to say, but drew the white cat’s gentle face close to his saucy one. They remembered Rob and Lois, and it is more difficult to be brave at night, than it is in the broad daylight, when the sun is shining.
“We will sing you to sleep,” said Madam Laura and Tommy Traddles, kindly, guessing that these petted cats might be lonely. And they sang to the tune of “Santa Lucia:”
“Little cats, dearest cats, sleep on your pillows,
Under the stars and ’neath green pussy-willows.
Sweet should your rest be and peaceful your slumber,
Dreaming of cream-pans and mice without number;
Rich your reward for your courage and pity,
Giving the homeless a home and a city.