The large black cat rose purring and came down the walk to William.
“Luky,” said William again.
The large black cat rubbed itself fondly against William’s boots.
A woman came out of the cottage smiling.
“You admirin’ my pussy, little boy?”
In ordinary circumstances, William would have resented most bitterly this mode of address and would have passed on with a silent glance of contempt. But from William’s heart the load of murder had been lifted. He almost smiled.
“Umph!” he said.
“He is a nice pussy, isn’t he?” went on Luky’s new owner. “I bought him at Gorton’s, three days ago. He was just what I wanted—a nice full-grown cat. Kittens are so destructive. He’s called Twinkie. Twinkie, Twinkie, Twinkie,” she murmured fondly bending down to stroke him, her voice rising affectionately in the scale at each repetition of his name.
Luky rubbed himself purring against her boots.
“There!” she said proudly, “don’t the dear dumb creature know its new mistress.... There then, darling. You come in an’ see the beauty lap up its milk some time, little boy, and I’ll give you a gingerbread. I like little boys to be fond of animals—especially cats. Some nasty boys throw sticks and things at them, but I’m quite sure you wouldn’t, would you?”