Box suddenly sees the kittens. He literally quivers with ferocity; but before he can reach them the entrance-hole is deserted.
For a long time he remains standing outside, barking and scratching up the ground—then he rushes home to the farm and whines and jumps about; he has something to tell—and he makes a jump towards the field; he has seen cats out there, cats of all colours!
Grey Puss pondered a while over the occurrence—this Box, near whose kennel she used to sleep, on whose straw she had lain, and whose food she had sometimes shared, what did he want here sniffing at their mound? She could easily understand all the others, her natural enemies in the fields; but this dog, who, like she, had once been in favour with “the cunning ones”—was he friend or was he foe?
One still, sunny morning she lies by herself at the edge of a ditch, listening to the cows’ eternal chewing of the cud, when the sound suddenly ceases.
She wonders why the cows stop eating—and when, in addition, one or two of them begin to run about, she puts up her head—and sees Box lurch out of the corn towards her....
During the whole of the week she has been persecuted by the dog and chased about like a fox. Just as well have it out with him now as later!
For awhile she retreats before him, but upon reaching a small mound she sits and composedly awaits her pursuer.
The plump hooligan, who has lost sight of his quarry behind the waving grass, comes along, his nose close to the ground, fully occupied with following the scent....
So unexpectedly has Grey Puss changed her tactics that he cannot make up his mind to stop, but swerves to one side as if about to run past. She turns as he swings round, thus keeping her face steadily to the foe....