Now the kittens are almost full-grown cats, and the ground is covered with snow. Dot dislikes the snowflakes, but he prefers them to beetles, and the beetles are gone! But even yet he does not quite forget his baby terror.
One evening shortly before Christmas Mistress Dorothy went in to where her pets sat basking in the warmth of the kitchen stove, carrying with her their usual supply of warm milk. The cats were on their feet at once, while the girl mischievously held the milk just beyond their reach. Mewing softly beneath their breath they were surely trying to say "please!" just as politely as they could.
Still the milk was withheld, and they grew restless; they shifted from one foot to another working their claws madly in and out; they purred sonorously and walked rapidly around one another. They rubbed sides so vigorously as almost to knock each other over but never forgot to keep an anxious eye toward the coveted supper.
Dorothy at last relented—as they knew she would!—and, stopping to set the dish down, a sprig of holly dropped from her belt, just as Dot, turning, gave a particularly ecstatic hump to his back.
Suddenly his tail bushed out like a bolster, his eyes fairly bulged, and he jumped clean off the floor. In front of him was the holly which a quick puff of air through the open door had blown scratching unevenly over the floor directly at poor Dot.
"Sft-sft-ft-sft! Beetle!" spat the terrified pussy. He was far too scared to run—fairly stiff with fright, for this unknown thing might—it might—anything!
Laughing so heartily that she was almost helpless, Dorothy snatched up the offending branch and again placed it at her waist. Then Dot saw his mistake, and as his mistress seated herself he sprang upon her lap and commenced to play with the bright berries—very brave he was, since he understood!
Dorothy let him pretend he had been playing before; but she really knew that he hadn't been—just as well as you and I know.
