The midday sun pours its hot breath down upon the earth; the air quivers out there above the fields as if boiling. The sand and stones are burning hot....
But the grass shines smilingly back at the sun, and the rye bursts into flower.
The kittens lift their heads as they hear a rustling in the corn: along the secret path which has gradually formed itself, Grey Puss returns home with her catch.
Not chicken for dinner to-day, but—herring! The fishmonger’s cart upset last night at the turn of the road, and dropped a box of splendid fresh herrings. Grey Puss, who had stuffed herself to bursting-point on the spot and dug down half a score besides, appears now with a couple hanging out of her mouth.
At first this new kind of food is greeted with contempt; it is cold and slimy—and doesn’t smell! But when the mother starts munching, the young ones soon follow her example, and join in the feast.
Delicious food! After the first taste each of them grabs a big lump; even Tiny, who has never taken kindly to solid diet, displays unusual eagerness. He devours not only his own share, but in addition, is foolhardy enough to covet some of Black’s.
Then, for the first time in his sheltered life, the little kitten sees the furious, grinning face, and the flattened, pressed-back ears, of an angry cat. And when, in spite of these, he continues innocently to reach in under the head, and is even lucky enough to pull out a piece of herring, down flashes a vicious forepaw, and he feels the scratch of a sharp, curved claw upon his tender nose.
Tears of pain spring to his eyes as he recoils, mewing piteously; while Black resumes his meal, emitting at intervals weird, muffled noises like threatening thunder.
THE LID OF THE WELL
As soon as the after-dinner siesta was at an end, Grey Puss, contrary to custom, called her kittens together with soft, alluring miauws, and took them for the first time along the secret, winding path she had trodden through the corn.