Dolly sat up in bed, and stared gravely at the shutters where the last sunset light was trying to slip through. She was not at all sleepy, and, because Sandman had not come to shake his magic dust in her eyes, she had time to think what a lonely and very, very unhappy child she was. For Dolly’s mother and father had gone away suddenly to her grandmother, who was ill, and Miss Jane had come to take care of the little girl until they came home. Miss Jane was good to her--Dolly knew that--but, then, Miss Jane had never had any little girls of her own, so she could not know how nice a lump of sugar felt in your hand at bedtime, nor how a tight, lumpy braid of hair could get down your back at night, and keep you awake for ever so long. Miss Jane had given Dolly a drink of water, and heard her say her prayers, and then gone out. “She never kissed me good night, nor told me just even one story,” the little girl said to herself. “And she wouldn’t shut the door loose, though I said ‘Please,’ ’cause she was afraid Impty would get in. O dear! How I wish I did have him with me!” Now Impty was a black, black kitten, with long, thin legs, and a thin, curved tail that made him look like a witch’s cat--ready to jump on a broom-stick, and sail off through the air--and he stared solemnly out of such round, yellow eyes that he seemed to understand everything that happened about him. “Dear me! I wish Impty _was_ here!” said Dolly again, and then something rubbed against her sleeve, and said, “Purr-rr-rr,” a long purr that slid at last into words, and sounded like this, “Purr-rr-rr, poor Dolly, poor Dolly! _I’ll_ tell you a story.” “Why, Impty, dear, I didn’t know you could talk,” the little girl cried. “You never asked me,” answered the kitten, demurely. “But I _can_ talk, and I can tell stories, too, for I know all the lore of Cat-Land. When I sleep I go there in my dreams, and my grandfather, the King of the Cats, purrs the Kitty-Cat tales in my ear. You have been so kind to us all your life that you are loved through the whole Cat Kingdom, and so, one tale each night until your mother comes home, I am permitted by the King to tell you. But now lie down, and I will purr to you, and then, if Miss Jane comes in, she can’t do more than say ‘Scat’ and drive me away, but if she heard me really talking, goodness knows what _would_ happen!” So Dolly cuddled down with a happy little sigh, and Impty curled himself up close to the pillow, and began the story of “The White Cat.” [Illustration: THE WHITE CAT ] Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons, all of whom were so handsome and good and clever, that he could not decide which should be the one to reign after him when he was dead and gone. Now this King was getting old, and as he knew that he must soon make his choice, and appoint his heir, he called his three sons to him.