I saw Mrs. Denville stop and snatch at her husband's arm as if she were going to fall. One hand pointed to Mary. Her lips were moving. We cats knew that she was saying—“My little girl can run—she is stronger than when she came. What wonders the country has done for her.”
“You'll come next summer fast enough,” said Aunt Tabby.
“Oh, I wish we could stay till apple-picking!” I said, casting a glance at the old orchard where each tree was a perfect sight with its load of red fruit.
“You might be cold,” said Aunt Tabby cautiously. “Up here in Maine cool winds sometimes blow, and the farmers get their fingers nipped while they are picking the apples. Often Mrs. Gleason sends out hot drinks to the orchard to keep the men warm while they are up on the ladders at work.”
“Well, we have had a lovely summer,” I said. “We shall have very pleasant things to think over during the long winter.”
“I liked that picnic down by the river about as well as anything,” said Joker licking his lips. “I've often heard folks talk about picnics but they always went so far off that cats couldn't go. Now, when Farmer Gleason had that one right here at home after haying, and had all the men who helped him and their families, I thought it was fine.”
“I liked the big evening party,” I said, “when people drove in from miles round, and they had speeches and singing.”
“And I liked the school children's parade on the Fourth of July,” said Aunt Tabby, “when they all marched up from the schoolhouse with banners, and had that play-acting on the front lawn and the feast afterwards, and nobody got hurt at fireworks.”
“It was all good,” I said—“all this last part of the visit has been lovely. I think it must be easier to have happy times in the country than in Boston.”
Aunt Tabby smiled. “You are young, Black-Face. When you are older, you will know that whether you are happy or unhappy depends on the kind of cat you are.”