“They steal the food, I suppose.”
“They eat the grain,” she said in mild surprise. “You know the farmers have corn, buckwheat, oats, wheat and other things in the bins in their grain-rooms. The mice make sad havoc in the bins, unless there are cats about. Up in the barn, there is a cat.”
“Called Thummie,” interposed the foolish, grinning Joker. “He's got double side claws on his paws. He's a sight.”
The tabby cat listened patiently to Joker, then she continued, “I have charge of the carriage-house, and Joker here, looks after the house.”
“Grandma being most as good as dead, does nothin',” interrupted that dreadful grinning Joker.
“Do you allow young cats here to make fun of old ones?” I said indignantly to the pleasant-faced tabby.
She seemed embarrassed, and Joker replied, “Course we do—this is a free country, ain't it?”
“Certainly, one is free to do anything,” I replied, “but the question is, whether it is right and kind to do certain things.”
“There you go preachin',” responded the irresponsible Joker. “Blizzard said that you Boston cats would make us most sick with your airs. Go 'long with you. Preach to the birds in the trees,” and he skipped out the doorway.
“He is very young,” said the tabby looking after him.