Something nice is going by,”
I said tantalizingly.
Mona never looked at me. She has a great deal of dignity, and she just went on licking her paws. I could not insult her.
What should I do? Something flashed into my mind—a saying of my mother. “When you are in the midst of difficulties, Black-Face, and don't know which way to turn, nothing will help you like telling the truth to some kind friend.”
“Mona,” I said abruptly, “I want you to help me.”
“That's what I'm doing,” she said shortly.
“You're not,” I said petulantly. “You're bothering me.”
“I was told to watch you, foolish kitten,” she said, “and I'm going to do it.”
“You were told to watch me,” I repeated in astonishment. “Who told you to do it?”
“Mr. Denville. He said, 'Mona, good dog, there is some mystery about that little cat's disappearance. Every evening when it gets dark, I want you to take up your position on the front door-step. See that no suspicious person gets in or out.'”