THE SEVENTH NIGHT
Outside it was cold and wet; twilight had come early, and Impty trotted
in shivering and a little cross.
“I almost wish that I wasn’t black,” he growled, as he cuddled up
beside Dolly. “Miss Jane’s airing her furs; _she_ says there’s frost in
the air, and she picked me up just because she thought I was her old
muff. The idea of mixing up a respectable kitten with a monkey muff!”
“What did you do, Impty?” asked Dolly, curiously.
“Oh, I just stuck out my claws, and miaoued a little. _Any_ cat would,
and then she said, ‘There’s that everlasting kitten!’ and shooed me out
of the door, and I got all wet before I could run in again.”