“Mother,” I whispered, “what kind of a flower is that? I never saw one before.” She looked, and began to be quite nervous. “Ah, dear! ah, dear!” she said, “it is not a flower at all. It is a person, and she is looking at you.” “Ah, mother,” I said, “how can it be a person when it is not half as high as the rose-bush? And it is such pretty colors. Do look again.” “It is a child person,” she said, “and I have heard they are sometimes the worst of all—though I don’t believe they take so many away at a time.” The little face peeped farther round the green of the rose-bush, and looked prettier and prettier. The pink frock and white frills began to show themselves a little more. “Get behind me,” said my mother; and I began to shrink back. Ah! how often I have wondered since then why I did not know in a minute that it was Betty—just Betty! It seemed so strange that I did not know it without being told. She came nearer and nearer, and her cheeks seemed to grow pinker and pinker, and her eyes bigger and bigger. Suddenly she gave a little jump, and began to clap her hands and laugh. “Ah,” she said, “it is a little kitty. It is a surely little kitty.” “Oh, my goodness!” said my mother. “Fts-fts-ftss! Fttss-ffttssss!” I could not help feeling as if it was rather rude of her, but she was _so_ frightened. But Betty did not seem to mind it at all. Down she went on her little knees on the grass, bending her head down to peep under the porch, until her cheek touched the green blades, and her heap of curls lay on the buttercups and daisies. “Oh, you _dee_ little kitty,” she said. “Pretty pussy, pussy, puss! Kitty—kitty! _Poo_ ’ittle kitty. I won’t hurt you!” She made a movement as if she were going to put out her dimpled hand to stroke me, but a side window opened, and I heard a voice call to her. “Betty—Betty!” it said, “you mustn’t put your hand under there. The pussy is frightened, and it makes her cross, and she might scratch you. Don’t try to stroke her, dearie.” She turned her bright little face over her shoulder. “I won’t hurt her, mamma,” she said. “I surely, surely won’t hurt her. She has such a pretty kitty; come and look at it, mamma!” “Ffttssss-ss!” said my mother. “More coming! Grown-ups this time!” “I don’t believe they will hurt us,” I said. “The little one is such a pretty one.” “You know nothing about it,” said my mother. But they did not hurt us. They were as gentle as if they had been kittens themselves. The mother came and bent down by Betty’s side and looked at us, too, but they did nothing which even frightened us. And they talked in quite soft voices.