In the morning she got a drink at the place where the farm horses were watered and then, without any one seeing her, Blackie went on again, down the country road. For she was in the country now, though just where she did not know.
“I must look for Mrs. Thompson,” thought the black cat. “I like her.”
All that day Blackie wandered around the country. She went to house after house, but when she saw no one who looked like the kind lady she ran away again. Sometimes people would call to her, and offer her things to eat, but Blackie was afraid. She managed to find a little to eat and water to drink. She wanted milk, but did not know where to get it.
The next night Blackie slept in another barn, and she asked the cows and horses if they knew where Mrs. Thompson lived. But none of them did.
“The farmer’s name here is Jones,” said a cow, as she chewed her cud.
“And he doesn’t like cats; I heard him say so,” spoke a brown horse as he munched his oats. “Besides, he has two dogs.”
“Then this is no place for me,” Blackie replied.
In the morning she hurried off again, and that day she had a strange adventure. She had come to another country town, and in a big green field she saw what she thought was a big white house. Flags were fluttering on top of it, and Blackie could hear music playing. Going into the white house were many persons, boys and girls among them.