the clock struck four,
There was some one opening the kitchen door,
And caught you creeping the wood-pile over,--
Make a clean breast of it, Kitty Clover!"

Then Kitty arose,
Rubbed up her nose,
And looked very much as if coming to blows;
Rounded her back,
Leaped from the stack,
On _her_ feet, at _my_ feet, came down with a whack,
Then, fairly awake, she stretched out her paws,
Smoothed down her whiskers, and unsheathed her claws,
Winked her green eyes
With an air of surprise,
And spoke rather plainly for one of her size.

"Killed a few robins; well, what of that?
What's virtue in man can't be vice in a cat.
There's a thing or two I should like to know,--
Who killed the chicken a week ago,
For nothing at all that I could spy,
But to make an overgrown chicken-pie?
'Twixt you and me,
'Tis plain to see,
The odds is, you like fricassee,
While my brave maw
Owns no such law,
Content with viands _a la_ raw.

"Who killed the robins? Oh, yes! oh, yes!
I _would_ get the cat now into a mess!
Who was it put
An old stocking-foot,
Tied up with strings
And such shabby things,
On to the end of a sharp, slender pole,
Dipped it in oil and set fire to the whole,
And burnt all the way from here to the miller's
The nests of the sweet young caterpillars?
Grilled fowl, indeed!
Why, as I read,
You had not even the plea of need;
For all you boast
Such wholesome roast,
I saw no sign at tea or roast,
Of even a caterpillar's ghost.

"Who killed the robins? Well, I _should_ think!
Hadn't somebody better wink
At my peccadillos, if houses of glass
Won't do to throw stones from at those who pass?
I had four little kittens a month ago--
Black, and Malta, and white as snow;
And not a very long while before
I could have shown you three kittens more.
And so in batches of fours and threes,
Looking back as long as you please,
You would find, if you read my story all,
There were kittens from time immemorial.

"But what am I now? A cat bereft,
Of all my kittens, but one is left.
I make no charges, but this I