Jimmy, Lucy, and All | Page 9

good lady had been knitting, but she dropped her work into the large pocket of her black apron, and moved up an easy-chair for her guest. Edith forgot to take it. Her eyes were roving about the room, attracted by the curiosities, though she dared not ask a single question.
"That nest on the wall looks odd to you, I dare say," said Mrs. McQuilken. "The twigs are woven together so closely that it looks nice enough for a lady's work-bag, now doesn't it?"
Edith said she thought it did.
"Well, that's the magpie's nest. She laid seven eggs in it once. I keep it now for her to sleep in; it's Mag's cot-bed."
Edith's eyes, still roving, espied a handsome kitty asleep on the lounge. It must be the zebra kitty because of its black and dove-colored stripes. Most remarkable stripes, so regular and distinct, yet so softly shaded. The face was black, with whiskers snow-white. How odd! Edith had never seen white whiskers on a kitten. And then the long, sweeping black tail!
Mrs. McQuilken watched the little girl's face and no longer doubted her fondness for kittens.
"I call her Zee for short. Look at that now!" And Mrs. McQuilken straightened out the tail which was coiled around Zee's back.
"Oh, how beautifully long!" cried Edith.
"Long? I should say so! There was a cat-show at Los Angeles last fall, and one cat took a prize for a tail not so long as this by three-quarters of an inch! And Zee only six months old!"
The kitty, wide awake by this time, was holding high revel with a ball of yarn which the tortoise-shell cat had purloined from her mistress's basket.
"Dear thing! Oh, isn't she sweet?" said Edith, dropping on her knees before the graceful creature.
Mrs. McQuilken enjoyed seeing the child go off into small raptures; Edith was fast winning her heart.
"Does your mother like cats?" she suddenly inquired.
"Not particularly," replied Edith, clapping her hands, as Zee with a quick dash bore away the ball out of the very paws of the coon cat. "Mamma thinks cats are cold-hearted," said she, hugging Zee to her bosom. "She says they don't love anybody."
"I deny it!" exclaimed Mrs. McQuilken, indignantly. "Tell your mother to make a study of cats and she'll know better."
Edith looked rather frightened. "Yes'm, I'll tell her."
"They have very deep feelings and folks ought to know it. Now, listen, little girl. I had two maltese kittens once. They were sisters and loved each other better than any girl sisters you ever saw. One of the kittens got caught in a trap and we had to kill her. And the other one went round mewing and couldn't be comforted. She pined away, that kitty did, and in three days she died. Now I know that for a fact."
"Poor child!" said Edith, much touched. "She wasn't cold-hearted, I'll tell mamma about that."
"Well, if she doesn't like 'em perhaps it wouldn't do any good; but while you're about it you might tell her of two tortoise-shell cats I had. They were sisters too. Whiff had four kittens and Puff had one and lost it. And the way Whiff comforted Puff! She took her right home into her own basket and they brought up the four kittens together. Wasn't that lovely?"
"Oh, wasn't it, though?" said Edith. "Cats have hearts, I always knew they did."
"That shows you're a sensible little girl," returned the old lady approvingly. "But you haven't told me yet what your name is?"
"Edith Dunlee."
"I knew 'twas Dunlee--that's a Scotch name; but I didn't know about the Edith. Well, Edith, so you've been to see the gold mine? Pokerish place, isn't it? I hear they're going to bring down the engine from the big plant and try to start it up again."
Edith had no idea what she meant by the "big plant," so made no reply. Mrs. McQuilken went back to the subject of cats.
"Did you know the Egyptians used to worship cats? Well, sometimes they did. And when their cats died they went into mourning for them."
"How queer!"
"It does seem so, but it's just as you look at it, Edith. Cats are a sight of company. I didn't care so much about them or about birds either when my husband was alive and my little children, but now--"
Again she paused, and this time she did not go on again. Some one out of doors laughed; it was Jimmy Dunlee, and the mocking-bird took up the merry sound and echoed it to perfection.
"Doesn't that seem human?" cried Mrs. McQuilken. And really it did. It was exactly the laugh of a human boy, though it came from the throat of a tiny bird.
"My little boys, Pitt and Roscoe, liked to hear him do that," said Mrs. McQuilken.
Edith observed that she did not say "my boyoes." "Pitt, the one that