They were not going to eat dirty bones when they had lately been having sandwiches, so they scorned them. Barlo was in a dreadful state of mind. He whimpered, and licked the air, and behaved like a very silly dog.
“He is young,” remarked Serena disdainfully. “Now, Black-Face, let us go in the house and investigate.”
By this time it was getting to be late afternoon. The air was very chilly, and I was glad to go inside.
We entered a large kitchen. It had good-sized windows, and two tables, and a sink with a funny, big, red thing, that I afterward learned was a pump to bring in water from the well. There were also some rocking-chairs, and a big black stove which was throwing out a great heat.
Mrs. Denville was sitting in a chair with her feet against the oven to warm them, and Mary was not dancing about her as she would have done if she had not had a weak back, but she was slowly circling about on her toes, while she ate a slice of bread and molasses.
“Look under the stove, Black-Face,” said Serena tragically, “and tell me what you see.”
I stooped down. A big ugly, grizzled, tortoise-shell cat with glassy yellow eyes was staring in our direction.
“A grandmother cat you may be sure, and as ugly as sin,” whispered Serena. “Now, come this way. I smell another.”
She led me toward a deep box heaped with sticks of wood which the farmer's wife kept putting on the stove instead of coal.
“They must be rich to burn wood all the time,” said Serena; “now, smell round here.”