Ursula tried several names, but the kitten was not interested.
“Call it Agnes. Try that.”
The creature answered to the name and came. Ursula examined its tongue. “Upon my word, it’s true!” she said. “I have not seen this kind of a cat before. Is it yours?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know its name so pat?”
“Because all cats of that breed are named Agnes; they will not answer to any other.”
Ursula was impressed. “It is the most wonderful thing!” Then a shadow of trouble came into her face, for her superstitions were aroused, and she reluctantly put the creature down, saying: “I suppose I must let it go; I am not afraid—no, not exactly that, though the priest—well, I’ve heard people—indeed, many people.... And, besides, it is quite well now and can take care of itself.” She sighed, and turned to go, murmuring: “It is such a pretty one, too, and would be such company—and the house is so sad and lonesome these troubled days ... Miss Marget so mournful and just a shadow, and the old master shut up in jail.”
“It seems a pity not to keep it,” said Satan.
Ursula turned quickly—just as if she were hoping some one would encourage her.