"Aren't they—ripping?" Madge said to Mary.
"They always come up on the step about this time in the afternoon; they are waiting for the men to bring the milk to the dairy."
A little later Madge saw the men coming—two of them, with the foaming pails. The mother cat
rose and went to meet them. Her tail was straight up, and the kittens danced after her.
"They will get a big dish of it, and then they will go around to the kitchen door to wait for supper and the table scraps. And after that Bessie will coax the kittens out to the barn and go hunting for the night."
"Is that her name—Bessie?"
"Yes, there has always been a Bessie-cat here. And we cling to old customs."
"I like old customs," said Madge, "and old houses."
After a little she asked, "Who makes the butter?"
"I do. It's great fun."