It happened this way. Right after breakfast—and I am surprised to find out how early the farmer's family gets up—Joker bounded up-stairs, and said that Serena and I and Slyboots had callers.
We were all three sleeping on an old feather bed in a big hall closet. Of course we got up and stretched ourselves, and went down the front staircase.
The Denvilles were all asleep, but in the kitchen the farmer's wife was frying eggs and making corncake for her husband and the young man Denno.
We cats went out on the veranda. No callers there. “They are in the orchard,” exclaimed Joker, and he plunged on excitedly.
They were not in the young orchard where the fight had taken place, but in the old one, sitting demurely under the shade of some currant bushes.
I could hardly believe my eyes, when I saw who our callers were—that impudent Blizzard and his wife.
I drew back, and so did Serena and Slyboots, but Joker plowed on. We looked at each other. There is a perfect understanding between us three; that is, when Serena is not provoking. That is one good thing that came out of Serena's fight. It has drawn Slyboots closer to us.
Well, we paused, and finally Joker paused, and looked expectantly at Blizzard. Then the sly, old, gray cat came forward, and bowing very low, addressed himself to Serena.
“Madam,” he said, with what I thought a very exaggerated manner, “I have come to offer you an apology for yesterday. I did not dream, I assure you, that it was one of your exalted lineage that I was attacking.”
Serena still looked doubtful.