mocking-bird.

"If you had come this morning you would have seen Mag, that's the
magpie," said Mrs. McQuilken. "She's off now, pretty creature. She likes
to be picking a fuss with the chickens."

The 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. "Y