the air and whirling round and round upon
their hind legs.

[Illustration: Captain Mittens was the first to leave the pirate
ship.]

"Oh, my eye!" exclaimed Rudolf, quite forgetting where he was and
standing still to watch their antics. "Don't I wish I had my
slingshot!"

"Hush! Silence--'nless ye want to be skinned!" It was the voice of
Prowler just behind him.

"If you think I'm afraid of a lot of silly cats--" began Rudolf, but
his voice was drowned by the angry yowls that burst from a hundred
furry throats as the islanders pressed closer and closer.

"Oh, Rudolf, do be quiet!" Ann begged, and Rudolf, remembering that he
was not only a long way from his sling shot, but that even his sword
had been taken away from him, was obliged to submit. By this time the
pirates had cleared a way through the crowd and the procession left
the beach and entered the pussy-willow grove which Rudolf had
described from the deck of the _Merry Mouser_. Half hidden among the
trees were a number of pretty little houses, each with a neat door
yard and a high back fence. Each had its name, too, on a small door
plate, and it amused Ann and Peter to spell out as they went
along--"Furryfield," "Mousetail Manor," "Kitten-cote," etc.

"Oh, look," Ann whispered, "see the darling, little, front doors,
Peter! Just like the cat-hole in Aunt Jane's big door. The chimneys
are shaped something like ears and the roofs are all covered with
fur!"

"Yes," answered Peter, "and they've got little gardens to 'em, Ann. I
guess that must be the catnip we smell so strong. I don't see any flowers,
though, only big tall weeds, rows and rows of 'em--milkweed--that's what
it is! What do you suppose they planted that for?"

Prowler, who was walking just ahead of Peter, overheard this last
remark, and turning, fixed his large, round, yellow eyes on the little
boy. "Don't you like milk, young man?" he asked.

"Why, yes," said Peter, very puzzled, "but not _that_ kind, you know."

"Well, milk's milk these hard times," said Prowler, wagging his head.
"It don't do to be too particerler. You like mice, don't you?" he
continued.

"Why, _I_ like candy mice," said Peter grinning, "but I never knew
before that cats did!"

"Sh-sh!" Poor Prowler began to tremble all over and look anxiously
about him. "Not a word of that," he murmured, "or I'm a dead cat! You
keep mum about that little affair, young'un, and I'll do you a good
turn yet, see if I don't!"

"All righ