I suppose she felt gratified at my reluctance to go, but she said nothing. Poor soul! I suppose her feelings are deadened.
I was creeping slowly and sadly away, when I heard just one tiny sound behind me. Something was touching the gravel softly.
I turned round. She was following me. I could have screamed at the top of my voice for joy, but I stifled the sound that was struggling to come up my throat. Something told me to go on and not notice her.
I did, and she kept on after me. I crept up the steps to the street and looked back—she was still behind. I waved my tail encouragingly, I did not dare to mew, for some people were coming up the sidewalk. I ran across the street to our own pavement, and she came stealing after me.
Then I hid down in the corner by the yard gate. I don't know where she went. I thought I had lost her, and my heart sank into my paws. I was perfectly exhausted, and I had had all my trouble for nothing.
I closed my tired eyes for an instant. I am only a kitten, and I had endured enough to tire an old cat.
Something glided near me. I started. There she was, not touching me, not speaking, but as far from me as she could get in the obscurity of the gate leading to the yard.
We sat there a long time, neither moving nor looking at each other. Every instant I was afraid that I should see Mona coming up the street, but the good old creature did not come. Finally, a carriage drove up to the door, and some ladies in evening dresses got out. I remembered now, hearing the servants say that there was to be a dinner-party this evening.
I glanced significantly at my poor friend. We two had a splendid chance to get in alongside of those light skirts. I went first, and the Common cat followed me. What nerve she had, when she once made up her mind to do a thing.
In two minutes we had glided up under little Mary's bed. “Lie down quickly,” I said, “and by and by I will get you something more to eat.”