“‘Two hundred dollars at the least,’ said the woman in a dreary way. ‘It’s a big place.’
“Granny went to her grandmother’s soup-tureen in the closet, and took out her stocking. She has a stocking, you know, but you must not tell any one. She doesn’t believe much in banks.”
“She wasn’t going to give the woman money, was she?” I inquired.
“Wait and see,” said the cat, who spoke quite slowly and mouthed her words, as if she did not often have a listener.
I find that longing to talk with cats and dogs and human beings too. So many are ready to talk—so few want to listen.
Well, the black cat went on to tell me that the woman looked as amazed as if she had seen a ghost, when good old Granny began counting out the five dollar bills.
“‘You don’t mean to say you’re going to lend me the money,’ she exclaimed.
“‘Just what I’m going to do,’ said Granny. ‘I’ve two good sons. I brought ’em up right, and they slip me in a five-dollar bill every time they write. I’m going to lend you what I’ve got.’
“‘You’re going to lend me money,’ cried the woman, ‘when I stole your cat?’
“‘You’re going to be a better woman in the future, than you have been in the past,’ said Granny. ‘I can see it in your eye.’