prize,
Darling," she said. "The Prize Mother brought for _whichever_ child
didn't win the Blinded Lady's prizes! Don't you worry! Mother'll always
have a prize for whichever child doesn't win the other prizes!"

My sorrow went away.

We all ran back to the Blinded Lady to thank her for our Beautiful
Party. And for the prizes.

My Father made a speech to the Blinded Lady.

"But after all, my dear Madam," he said, "I am afraid you have been
cheated!--It was '_new_' pictures that you wanted, not old ones!"

The Blinded Lady whacked at him with her cane. She was awful mad.

"How do _you_ know what I want?" she said. "How do _you_ know what I
want?"

My Father and my Mother looked at each other. They made little laughs
with their eyes.

The Blinded Lady smoothed herself.

"But I certainly am flabbergasted," she said, "about the Old Tom Cat!
Whatever in the world made the Young Lassie choose the old
battle-scarred Tom?"

Rosalee looked at Carol. Carol looked at me. I looked at the Old Tom.

"Maybe she chose him for--for his historicalness," said my Mother.

"----Maybe," said my Father.

We started for the door. We got as far as the Garden. I remembered
something suddenly. I clapped my hands. I laughed right out! "No! She
didn't either!" I said. "She chose him for Carol's Ar--Rena--I bet'cher!
Carol's going to have him for a Cham--peen! We'll fight him every
afternoon! Maybe there'll be tickets!"

"Tickets?" said my Father.

"Oh my dears," said my Mother. "A cat-fight is a dreadful thing!"

My Father looked at the Old Tom! At his battered ears! At his scarred
nose! At his twisted eye! The Old Tom looked at my Father! They both
smiled!

"Infamous!" said my Father. "How much will the tickets be?"

We went home. We went home through the fields instead of through the
village.

Carol held the Peacock Feather Fan as though he was afraid it would bite
him.

Rosalee carried the Old Tom as though she _knew_ it would bite her.

When we got to the Willow Tree they changed prizes. It made a
difference.

Rosalee carried the Peacock Feather as though it was a magic sail. She
tipped it to the breeze. She pranced it. And danced it. It looked
fluffy.

Carol carried the Old Tom hugged tight to his breast. The Old Tom looked
_very_ historical. Carol looked very shining and pure. He looked like a
choir-boy carrying his singing book. He looked as though his voice would
be very high.

My Father and Mother carried e