Hatty! see that pretty kitty! I wonder where she came from."
Fred Carleton walked softly toward the puss, his hand outstretched, calling, "Kitty, pretty kitty," until he had her in his arms.
His sister Hatty took her hands from the dish-water, wiped them on the roller, and came toward him.
"Why Fred!" she exclaimed, "that's Ned Perry's kitty. Clara says it's a real Maltese. They'll feel dreadfully when they know it's lost."
"I wish they wouldn't mind," said Fred, caressing the puss; "see how she loves me! I'd like to keep her so much."
"But would you have Ned, who is a roguish boy, catch one of your bantams and keep it? You'd call that stealing."
Fred sighed. "But I didn't go to catch her, Hatty; she came right into the door. I think that's different."
"Perhaps she is hungry."
"O Hatty! may I try her with some milk?"
"Yes," she answered, laughing at his eagerness. "Pour some into a saucer from the pitcher in the closet, and see whether she will drink it."
He was rewarded by the sight of pussy lapping up the milk.