"Oh," he said, "I was looking over the fence, to see if the stuck-up Rices were there, when I espied my Prince, and grabbed him."
"What shall we do with him?" asked the boy's mother.
"Shut him up till he forgets his old home."
(How little they knew about a cat's nature, when they thought I could forget!)
I rushed into a corner, and struck out with open claws at all who approached me, growling just as I had heard dogs growl—an accomplishment I had just discovered. Delighted with my success, I was inclined to make the most of it.
"Well, I must say he has a nice temper." And the bad boy held up his hands, where my etchings, though painful to him, were a credit to my skill. "King Karl and Prince Will must be covered with scars. Who cares! If they won't play with me, I have got their pet cat, and will keep him, in spite of his beastly temper."
"No, you won't," I said to myself, "if I can help it."
For three wretched days I was shut up. They treated me with great kindness, and tried to pet me, offering me nice food. I was too homesick to care for anything, and too wretched to think of eating, only that I had sense enough to know I must take enough to give me strength. I could not sleep. Visions of my dear home and loved ones kept my eyes wide open, and I did make good resolutions never to run away again if I could get free.
The big boy went away to spend the holidays, leaving orders with them all to keep me, that when he came home he might enjoy the sorrow of the Rices.
"They have sent around slips to all the houses and have advertised, but they shall never get him," he said, with a horrid laugh.