“Right here,” responded Blizzard, and the old rascal stopped at a few paces from us. “Get to work, cats and kittens, find the mole-hills, choose the best, then we will have the hunt.”
The cats broke ranks and scattered hither and thither. It was a regular frolic for them, and I don't think any of them did much work, but Blizzard and Rosy. Joker just stood and grinned at Serena. If I had been in her place that idiotic, tell-tale face of his would have warned me, but there was a mist before the eyes of my poor, deluded sister. She saw only what she wanted to see.
In a few minutes Blizzard and Rosy had fixed upon a place, and the mischievous old cat raised his voice, “Cats and kittens!”
Immediately all the cats stopped their nonsense, and gathered round him.
“I have found three mole-hills, quite near each other,” he said. “Now, Miss Serena, come near. Stand with your eyes fixed on these three small holes in the ground. The moles being night workers, are off for food. We will form a ring, surround them, and drive them toward home. Be all ready to spring as they arrive. Lay the dead in a little pile, then when we think all the moles have been driven from the surrounding fields, we will come back, and have a celebration over your victory. Now cats—away, follow me,” and the old fellow bounded off, as nimbly as a kitten.
Slyboots began to chuckle in a slow, enjoyable way. “I see their little game,” she said. “I track 'em.”
“What is it?” I whispered eagerly. “I am all in the dark.”
She kept on chuckling, till the last shadowy cat form was out of sight. Then speaking very low, so that Serena would not hear her, for she was sitting quite near us on a little mound in the meadow, she murmured, “This is a put-up job. There ain't no moles near. They're foolin' Serena. She'll sit there a month afore a mole comes.”
“Slyboots,” I gasped, “it is all a trick.”
“Jest so. Blizzard and all them cats has gone home laughin' like to kill themselves at the way they're foolin' your sister.”