little kitty
cats and get nice homes for them, I'm going to help."

The voice belonged to Lily Jennings, who had stood on the other side of
the Japanese cedars and heard every word.

Both boys started in righteous wrath, but Arnold Carruth was the angrier
of the two. "Mean little cat yourself, listening," said he. His curls
seemed to rise like a crest of rage.

Johnny, remembering some things, was not so outspoken. "You hadn't any
right to listen, Lily Jennings," he said, with masculine severity.

"I didn't start to listen," said Lily. "I was looking for cones on these
trees. Miss Parmalee wanted us to bring some object of nature into the
class, and I wondered whether I could find a queer Japanese cone on one
of these trees, and then I heard you boys talking, and I couldn't help
listening. You spoke very loud, and I couldn't give up looking for that
cone. I couldn't find any, and I heard all about the Simmonses' cats,
and I know lots of other cats that haven't got good homes, and--I am
going to be in it."

"You AIN'T," declared Arnold Carruth.

"We can't have girls in it," said Johnny the mindful, more politely.

"You've got to have me. You had better have me, Johnny Trumbull," she
added with meaning.

Johnny flinched. It was a species of blackmail, but what could he do?
Suppose Lily told how she had hidden him--him, Johnny Trumbull, the
champion of the school--in that empty baby-carriage! He would have more
to contend against than Arnold Carruth with socks and curls. He did not
think Lily would tell. Somehow Lily, although a little, befrilled girl,
gave an impression of having a knowledge of a square deal almost as much
as a boy would; but what boy could tell with a certainty what such an
uncertain creature as a girl might or might not do? Moreover, Johnny
had a weakness, a hidden, Spartanly hidden, weakness for Lily. He rather
wished to have her act as partner in his great enterprise. He therefore
gruffly assented.

"All right," he said, "you can be in it. But just you look out. You'll
see what happens if you tell."

"She can't be in it; she's nothing but a girl," said Arnold Carruth,
fiercely.

Lily Jennings lifted her chin and surveyed him with queenly scorn. "And
what are you?" said she. "A little boy with curls and baby socks."

Arnold colored with shame and fury, and subsided. "Mind you don't tell,"
he said, taking Johnny's cue.

"I sha'n't tell," replied Lily, with majesty. "But you'll tell
your