“Where is Serena?” asked Joker looking round.
“On the upper veranda,” I said.
“She never got over that mole-hunt, did she?” he went on.
“A cat that never has trouble doesn't amount to much,” said Aunt Tabby. “You know that, Joker.”
He hung his head, then his eyes twinkled, and he looked at me. “We ought to weigh Black-Face before she goes back to the city. She's gained about three pounds since she came!”
I gave a little sigh. My appetite is my weak point. Then I said, “Your cream here is so delicious, and I have never tasted such bread and butter in Boston, nor such savory meat.”
“Put a rein on your appetite, Black-Face,” said Joker, “or you'll have kitten's gout.”
“There are the Denvilles coming up from the meadow,” said Aunt Tabby, “and little Mary with them.”
“All as brown as berries,” said Joker. “That child ought to live in the country.”
There was certainly an immense change in our dear little Mary, and just now a wonderful thing happened. Her parents came up the hill, went to the barn, then began to descend the slope to the carriage-house. Little Mary left her parents and ran ahead—actually ran—a thing I had never seen her do before, though she could walk very fast.