meowed. He just tapped at the door, and
if that did not succeed, he scratched on the window, and he was so
one-idea-ed that nothing turned him from his purpose until he was let
out.

For a time I used to sit up for him to come in. I was ashamed to let
Amelie know. But, one night, after I had been out in the garden with a
lantern hunting for him at midnight, I heard a gentle purring sound,
and, after looking in every direction, I finally located him on the roof of
the kitchen. Being a bit dull, I imagined that he could not get down. I
stood up on a bench under the kitchen window, and called him. He
came to the eaves, and I could just reach him, but, as I was about to
take him by a leg and haul him down, he retreated just out of my
reach, and said what I imagined to be a pathetic "meow." I talked to
him. I tried to coax him to come within reach again, but he only went
up the roof to the ridgepole and looked down the other side and said
"meow." I was in despair, when it occurred to me to get the step-
ladder. You may think me impossibly silly, but I never supposed that
he could get down.

I went for the key to the grange, pulled out the ladder, and hauled it
along the terrace, and was just putting it up, when the little devil
leaped from the roof into the lilac bush, swayed there a minute, ran
down, scampered across the garden, and dashed up a pear tree,
and--well, I think he laughed at me.

Anyway, I was mad. I went in and told him that he might stop out all
night for all I cared. Still, I could not sleep for thinking of him--used
to comfort--out in the night, and it was chilly. But he had to be
disciplined.

I had to laugh in the morning, for he was playing on the terrace when
I opened the door, and he had a line of three first-class mice laid out
for me. I said: "Why, good morning, Khaki, did mother make him stay
out all night? Well, you know he was a naughty cat!"

He gave me a look--I fancied it was quizzical--rolled over, and
showed his pretty white belly, then jumped up, gave one look up at
the bedroom window, scampered up the salon shutter, crouched on
the top, and, with one leap, was through the bedroom window. When
I rushed upstairs--to see if he had hurt himself, I suppose,--he was
sitting on the foot of the bed, and I think he was grinning.

So much for disciplining a cat.

However, I had learned something--and, evidently, he had also. I had
learned that a cat can take care of himself, and has a right