But this story is just about Blackie, and not so much about Arthur or Mabel, though I may mention them once in a while. Now I must tell you what happened to the black cat.
She wandered all over the house once more, now and then jumping up on a window sill that fronted on the street, to give her mewing cry. But if any one heard her no one tried to get her out of the locked and vacant house.
“I must do something. I really must!” said Blackie to herself at last. “Otherwise I shall have to stay in this house all night with nothing to eat. I’ll go upstairs again and see if there is something to eat up there. The family may have left something when they moved out.”
Upstairs went Blackie once more, and she hurried through the different rooms, for it was getting dusk now. Not a thing to eat could poor Blackie find.
At last she came to another flight of stairs that seemed to lead up to the roof.
“Why, that’s queer,” said the black cat. “I did not notice them before. I wonder what they are for? I must go up and find out.”
Blackie walked up these other stairs. They were narrow and quite steep, and [when the cat reached the top she could look up and see the sky through a crack].
“Ha! This isn’t so bad,” thought Blackie. “Perhaps I can squeeze through that crack and get out. I’ll try.”
Blackie went up to the highest step. Over her head was a square piece of wood that seemed to cover a hole in the roof. The wood was really a cover to what is called a “scuttle,” or hole, in the roof of the house, which roof was flat, and of tin.