Evelyn had no fancy for anything that, in her own words, “was not live.” A thing that had life was of more value in her eyes than all the toys that were ever given her. A young bird which, too fat to fly, had fallen from the nest, or a broken-legged chicken, which was too lame to keep up with its mother, had her tenderest care; a little mouse slipping along the wainscot or playing on the carpet excited her liveliest interest; but a kitten, a “real live kittykin,” she had never possessed, though for a long time she had set her heart on having one. One day, however, she was out walking with her mammy in the “big road,” when she met several small negro children coming along, and one of them had a little bit of a white kitten squeezed up in his arm. It looked very scared, and every now and then it cried “Mew, mew.” “Oh, mammy, look at that dear little kittykin!” cried Evelyn, running up to the children and stroking the little mite tenderly. “What you children gwine do wid dat little cat?” asked mammy, severely. “We gwine _loss_ it,” said the boy who had it, promptly. “Oh, mammy, don’t let them do that! Don’t let them hurt it!” pleaded Evelyn, turning to her mammy. “It would get so hungry.” A sudden thought struck her, and she sprang over toward the boy, and took the kitten from him, which instantly curled up in her arms just as close to her as it could get. There was no resisting her appeal, and a minute later she was running home far ahead of her mammy, with the kitten hugged tight in her arms. Her mamma was busy in the sitting-room when Evelyn came rushing in. “Oh, mamma, see what I have! A dear little kittykin! Can’t I have it? They were just going to throw it away, and lose it all by itself;” and she began to jump up and down and rub the kitten against her little pink cheek, till her mother had to take hold of her to quiet her excitement. Kittykin (for that was the name she had received) must have misunderstood the action, and have supposed she was going to take her from her young mistress, for she suddenly bunched herself up into a little white ball, and gave such a spit at Evelyn’s mamma that the lady jumped back nearly a yard, after which Kittykin quietly curled herself up again in Evelyn’s arm. The next thing was to give her some warm milk, which she drank as if she had not had a mouthful all day; and then she was put to sleep in a basket of wool, where Evelyn looked at her a hundred times to see how she was coming on. Evelyn never doubted after that that if she prayed for a thing she would get it; for she had been praying all the time for a “little white kitten,” and not only was Kittykin as white as snow, but she was, to use Evelyn’s words, “even littler” than she had expected. There could not, to her mind, be stronger proof.