l
ludicrously swollen. As for color, if a once black cat had been well and
thoroughly singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif's
thin, draggled, unsightly fur.

Anne "shooed," but the cat would not "shoo." As long as she stood he sat
back on his haunches and gazed at her reproachfully out of his one good
eye; when she resumed her walk he followed. Anne resigned herself to his
company until she reached the gate of Patty's Place, which she coldly
shut in his face, fondly supposing she had seen the last of him.
But when, fifteen minutes later, Phil opened the door, there sat the
rusty-brown cat on the step. More, he promptly darted in and sprang upon
Anne's lap with a half-pleading, half-triumphant "miaow."

"Anne," said Stella severely, "do you own that animal?"

"No, I do NOT," protested disgusted Anne. "The creature followed me home
from somewhere. I couldn't get rid of him. Ugh, get down. I like decent
cats reasonably well; but I don't like beasties of your complexion."

Pussy, however, refused to get down. He coolly curled up in Anne's lap
and began to purr.

"He has evidently adopted you," laughed Priscilla.

"I won't BE adopted," said Anne stubbornly.

"The poor creature is starving," said Phil pityingly. "Why, his bones
are almost coming through his skin."

"Well, I'll give him a square meal and then he must return to whence he
came," said Anne resolutely.

The cat was fed and put out. In the morning he was still on the
doorstep. On the doorstep he continued to sit, bolting in whenever the
door was opened. No coolness of welcome had the least effect on him;
of nobody save Anne did he take the least notice. Out of compassion the
girls fed him; but when a week had passed they decided that something
must be done. The cat's appearance had improved. His eye and cheek had
resumed their normal appearance; he was not quite so thin; and he had
been seen washing his face.

"But for all that we can't keep him," said Stella. "Aunt Jimsie is
coming next week and she will bring the Sarah-cat with her. We can't
keep two cats; and if we did this Rusty Coat would fight all the time
with the Sarah-cat. He's a fighter by nature. He had a pitched battle
last evening with the tobacco-king's cat and routed him, horse, foot and
artillery."

"We must get rid of him," agreed Anne, looking darkly at the subject
of their discussion, who was purring on the hearth rug with an air of
lamb-like meekness. "But the