ver-clean. One could see at a glance that she
was doing her duty by a family in some out-of-the-way corner. She kept
one eye on the barrow circle and the other on the possible Dogs.

She saw a score of happy Cats slink off with their delicious 'daily'
and their tiger-like air, but no opening for her, till a big Tom of her
own class sprang on a little pensioner with intent to rob. The victim
dropped the meat to defend herself against the enemy, and before the
'all-powerful' could intervene, the gray Slummer saw her chance, seized
the prize, and was gone.

She went through the hole in Menzie's side door and over the wall at
the back, then sat down and devoured the lump of liver, licked her
chops, felt absolutely happy, and set out by devious ways to the
rubbish-yard, where, in the bottom of an old cracker-box, her family
was awaiting her. A plaintive mewing reached her ears. She went at
speed and reached the box to see a huge Black Tom-cat calmly destroying
her brood. He was twice as big as she, but she went at him with all her
strength, and he did as most animals will do when caught wrong-doing,
he turned and ran away. Only one was left, a little thing like its
mother, but of more pronounced color--gray with black spots, and a
white touch on nose, ears, and tail-tip. There can be no question of
the mother's grief for a few days; but that wore off, and all her care
was for the survivor. That benevolence was as far as possible from the
motives of the murderous old Tom there can be no doubt; but he proved a
blessing in deep disguise, for both mother and Kit were visibly
bettered in a short time. The daily quest for food continued. The
meat-man rarely proved a success, but the ash-cans were there, and if
they did not afford a meat-supply, at least they were sure to produce
potato-skins that could be used to allay the gripe of hunger for
another day.

One night the mother Cat smelt a wonderful smell that came from the
East River at the end of the alley. A new smell always needs
investigating, and when it is attractive as well as new, there is but
one course open. It led Pussy to the docks a block away, and then out
on a wharf, away from any cover but the night. A sudden noise, a growl
and a rush, were the first notice she had that she was cut off by her
old enemy, the Wharf Dog. There was only one escape. She leaped from
the wharf to the vessel from which the smell came. The Dog could not
follow, so when the fish-boat sail