“You see, she is a wild little pussy,” the mother said. “She must have been left behind by the people who lived here before we came, and she has been living all by herself and eating just what she could steal—or, perhaps, catching birds. Poor little cat! And now she is frightened because, evidently, some of her kittens have been stolen from her, and she wants to protect this one.” “But if I don’t frighten her,” said Betty, “if I keep coming to see her and don’t hurt her, and if I bring her some milk and some bits of meat, won’t she get used to me and let her kitten come out and play with me after a while?” “Perhaps she will,” said the mother. “Poor pussy, puss, pussy, pretty pussy!” She said it in such a coaxing voice that I quite liked her, and when Betty began to coax, too, she was so sweet and so like a kitten herself that I could scarcely help going a trifle nearer to her, and I found myself saying “Mee-ow” quite softly in answer. And from that time we saw her every day ever so many times. She seemed never tired of trying to make friends with us. The first thing in the bright mornings we used to hear her pretty child voice and see her pretty child face. She used to bring saucers of delightful milk to us two or three times a day. And she always was so careful not to frighten us. She would just call us, “Pretty, pretty pussy! Pretty kitty puss!” in a voice as soft as silk, and then she would put the saucer of milk near us and go away behind the rose-bush and let us drink in comfort and peace. We thought at first that she went back to the house when she set the saucer down, but after a few days, when we were beginning to be rather less afraid, we found out that she just hid behind the rose-bush and peeped at us through the branches. I saw her pink cheeks and big, soft, pansy eyes one day, and I told my mother. “Well, she is a well-behaved child person,” mother said. “I sometimes begin to think she does not mean any harm.” I was sure of it. Before I had lapped three saucers of milk I had begun to love her a little. A few days later she just put the saucer down near us and stepped softly away, but stood right by the rose-bush, without hiding behind it. And she said, “Pretty pussy, pussy!” so sweetly, without moving towards us, that even my mother began to have confidence in her. About that time I began to think it would be nice to creep out from under the house and get to know her a little better. It looked so pleasant and sunshiny out on the grass, and she looked so sunshiny herself. I did like her voice so, and I did like a ball I used to see her playing with, and when she bent down to look under the porch, and her curls showing, I used to feel as if I should like to jump out and catch at them with my claws. There never was anything as pretty as Betty, or anything which looked as if it might be so nice to play with.