All the while she was having her frock changed and her hair brushed before tea, she turned the matter over in her mind. Could she possibly prevail on Aunt Katharine to spare the kittens this once. It seemed odd that Aunt Katharine, who was so kind to every one, could bear to let such poor little helpless things be killed. Maisie supposed it must be one of those many, many things she had been told she should understand when she was older. Dennis always said it did not hurt them, but though she looked up to him a good deal, she did not feel at all sure that he was right in this case. At any rate, if it did not hurt the kittens, it must be most painful for Madam to lose two of her children in such a dreadful way. Full of those thoughts, she went down to the schoolroom, where Aunt Katharine always joined the children at tea-time. She found her already there, listening to Dennis, who was giving an excited account of the discovery of Madam in the hayloft that afternoon. "It's _such_ a jolly little kitten we're going to keep, you can't think, Aunt Katharine," he said; "as black as a coal all over." "And what does Maisie think?" said Aunt Katharine, turning to the little girl, who had not joined in her brother's description. "Does she like it best too?" Maisie's round face became very pink, and she nervously crumbled up her cake, but said nothing. "Would you rather keep the white one or the grey one, dear?" asked her aunt kindly. "I daresay Dennis would not mind. He shall choose next time." "We didn't choose," put in Dennis quickly; "we cast lots, so it's quite fair. It's only," he continued, lowering his voice confidentially, "that she doesn't like the others to be drowned." "Is that it, Maisie?" asked Aunt Katharine. Maisie nodded. She had meant to say a good deal, but now that the moment had come, her feelings were rather more than she could manage. She gazed beseechingly at Aunt Katharine, who could save the kittens by one word, and still crumbling up her cake with her little brown hands, murmured, "Just this once." Aunt Katharine smiled. "And how about my rule?" she said. "If you keep the kittens `just this once,' you will want to keep the next, and the next, and we shall soon have as many cats as there were before. That would never do." "There were fifteen," said Dennis.--"Pass the cake, please, Maisie." Maisie gave a little gulp of disappointment. It did not seem to her that fifteen cats were at all too many for comfort and pleasure, but Aunt Katharine knew best. So she drew a small handkerchief out of her pocket, wiped the crumbs from her fingers, and struggled for composure. Both she and Dennis thought the matter quite ended, for their aunt began to talk of other things, and after tea she read to them as usual, and not another word was said about the kittens until bed-time. It was surprising, therefore, to hear her say as she shut up the book: