After bolting the calf in, he stands a moment outside his door and reads from a scrap of newspaper. Suddenly he notices a slight movement at his feet, and, looking down, sees a little white kitten with arched back and lifted tail rubbing itself affectionately against his wooden clogs.
“Well I never! Where did you spring from?”
White becomes nervous at hearing a human voice and hops away a little. The crofter bends down and makes coaxing noises to her.
She comes nearer again, and now she feels a hand grasp her round the body—how deliciously it tickles!...
The little farmer’s house, which formed one with the stall and barn, was overrun with mice. Of an evening when he sat reading they would often come peeping over the edge of the table and crawl over his trousers.
He never told how they behaved when he was in bed!
At intervals he brought the farm-cat into the rooms; but it never had the faintest notion of what was required, and rushed about terrified, knocking everything down until it was let out again.
White-kitten, therefore, was not unwelcome!
She behaved at once as if she had lived in a house all her life! She learned to chase after mice on the chest-of-drawers without overturning the shell-mounted frame containing the photograph of the man in his soldier’s uniform, and to catch flies on the table without stepping into the dripping-dish or tea-mug.