Kirby.
"Whatever are you doing alone so far from home, Patricia?" Miss Susan
asked, coming up. The cat had retired to the shelter of a tall tree,
from a branch of which she glared down on her pursuer, who lay hot and
panting on the ground below.
Patricia pointed to the dog. "Why, I came on purpose to bring you
him--for a present, you know."
Miss Jane gasped.
"He's a very nice dog," Patricia went on. "I'd love to keep him for
myself; only Aunt Julia--Aunt Julia seemed to think one dog was enough.
I don't think Aunt Julia is particularly--enthusiastic, about dogs. You
would like him, wouldn't you?"
Not dust, heat, nor weariness could hide the persuasive charm of
Patricia's quick upward smile.
Before that smile Miss Jane, who was very soft-hearted, wavered; but
Miss Susan shook her head resolutely. "Augusta would never hear of it
for one moment!"
"Is Augusta your cook?" Patricia asked. Cooks were that way sometimes;
even Sarah had her moments of revolt--so far as Patricia was concerned.
"Augusta is our cat," Miss Jane explained. She felt grateful to Susan,
and sorry for Patricia.
Patricia sighed; she had recognized the finality in Miss Susan's tone.
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