Black, White and Gray: A Story of Three HomesWalton, Amy
General
Black, White and Gray: A Story of Three Homes
Walton, Amy
Cats -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction
The way seemed endless, and when she did arrive, it was disappointing to
find that Aunt Katharine would not be home till late in the evening.
There was therefore only Dennis to whom she could pour out the story of
Tuvvy's little daughter, and her hopes and fears about the grey kitten.
He was interested and impressed at first, but very soon ready to dismiss
the subject and return to the one which really filled his mind--the
painting of the jackdaws' house.
"Only fancy," said Maisie, breaking out again for the twentieth time, as
the children sat at dinner, "if it should be our dear little grey kitten
who we thought was dead. Wouldn't it be lovely?"
"Yes," said Dennis absently. Then, after a moment's pause: "What colour
had we better paint it?"
"Paint it!" repeated Maisie vaguely; but meeting a look of scorn from
Dennis, she hastily added: "Oh, you mean the jackdaws' house; but you
_are_ pleased about the kitten, aren't you?"
"Of course I am," answered Dennis rather impatiently, "but that's only a
chance, you see. If it is the kitten, it is; and if it isn't, it isn't.
But the jackdaws' house is a real thing, and we _must_ settle about the
colour. How do you think," he went on seriously, "it would do to have
it the same colour that Tuvvy's going to do the elevator? He might let
us have some of his paint, you see."
"I shouldn't like it at all," said Maisie promptly; "he said it was to
be a sort of a yaller, and I thought it sounded very ugly."
"Well, then," said Dennis, "you say a colour."
Maisie thought it over, her eyes fixed on the meadows and the
fast-falling rain outside.
"I should paint it green," she said suddenly.
"Why?" asked Dennis.
"Because it's a pretty colour," she replied, "and the jackdaws would
like it. It's like the leaves and grass, and they might think they were
in a tree."
Dennis received the idea with a short laugh of contempt.
"Jackdaws are not such ninnies as that," he said. "They're sharp birds;
they're not likely to mistake a cage for a tree. If we don't have it
yellow, let's have it bright red, like Mr Solace's new wagon."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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