Sally, from her perch on the window-sill, saw that it was as she had feared. After a long fight, Peter went swiftly away in fine condition, while Oxford came haltingly up the steps with a lame paw--a sadder and a wiser cat. Although he respected Peter more, his dislike of him increased, and he was determined to drive him off the place. ‘If I had advised him not to fight, he wouldn’t have liked it,’ thought Sally. ‘He would have just said, “Sally, you never do brace up.”’ After this, Oxford and Sally saw no more of Peter for some weeks. Sometimes they saw a plate of canned salmon and bread on the back piazza and lay in wait for him, but Oxford never caught him. Twice they saw at dusk a shadowy form vanishing into the Wild Wood. One evening there was a great snowstorm and Oxford had not come home. Miss Winifred seemed the most worried, and this was strange, as she had not wanted him in the beginning. ‘Poor little pussy, hasn’t he come back yet?’ she asked Elvira after supper. ‘No, Miss Winifred, and I’ve called until I’m hoarse.’ ‘It is a wild storm,’ said Miss Winifred. ‘I am sure Oxford is safe and warm somewhere,’ said Elvira; ‘he’s a cat who knows how to look out for himself.’ ‘Yes,’ said Miss Harvey, ‘if it was my little Sally, I should be terribly worried.’ Sally was sitting on Miss Harvey’s knee at the time, and at these words she put her furry paws around her neck and rubbed her face against hers. ‘I am sure he is all right,’ she said in her cat language that people could not understand. ‘He always comes back.’ ‘Of course he always has come back,’ said Miss Winifred, as if she had understood, ‘but there comes a time--some of your pets have gone away and never come back, Elvira.’ Then Sally thought of her grandmother and of her brave father, the mighty hunter, and of her mother, so cozy and so kind. How terrible it would be if Oxford should disappear as they had done! ‘I will go and call him,’ said Miss Winifred. ‘Maybe he will come in for me.’ ‘For you?’ said Elvira. ‘You and he have never been great friends.’ Miss Winifred went to the front door and stepped into the piazza that was glassed in for winter. The storm was raging outside. She opened the glass door of the piazza and the wind blew the snow into her face. It was deep on the steps. ‘Oxford Gray, Oxford Gray, Oxford Gray, Junior!’ she called. ‘Darling pussy, do come!’ She had never called him ‘darling pussy’ before, but our friends grow very dear to us if we fear losing them. ‘Oxford, Oxford Gray, Junior!’ she called again. Something furry brushed against her feet. She stooped and patted the fur coat all crusted over with snow. ‘How friendly you are! You were never so friendly before. Walk in, darling pussy,’ she said, as she opened the hall door. The hungry and cold cat rubbed against her feet once more as if in gratitude. She walked along the front hall to the door at the back that led into the kitchen.