‘She is the nicest person,’ Sally said to herself as she scrambled down the tree after she heard the front door close on Mrs. Conant and her dog. ‘She understands the feelings of a cat, but it is strange she could not tell the difference between Oxford and me. Perhaps I’m growing better-looking now I am fatter.’ [Illustration] CHAPTER XV THE FAMILY TREE It seemed strange to Sally that as nice a person as Mrs. Conant should care as much as she did for a creature like Spot. It was all she could do to listen in silence to a conversation that she had with Miss Winifred one afternoon in the parlor. The two were sitting on the sofa while Sally was looking out of the window. She was watching some birds that were taking a bath in the bird bath. First a blue jay went in and splashed about, and after he came out, a robin fluttered down from his perch in a tree. ‘Spot has a good pedigree,’ said Mrs. Conant. ‘His Family Tree is quite as good in its way as Mr. Conant’s.’ Sally listened while the two ladies talked of these matters, and she thought of her glorious ancestors. She wished she had a Family Tree herself, but later, when she talked the matter over with Oxford, he said it was nonsense. ‘Let us play with our catnip mice,’ he said. As usual they had a fine time and Sally was so stimulated that she felt like talking in verse. I long to have a family tree And show to all my true descent, But Oxford says a family tree Is not a tree for kittens meant. To know his father is enough, For he was made of valiant stuff. But I would like to trace them all, Back to proud William of great fame, Who lived, they say, in princely hall, And bore almost a royal name, Down to myself, then, all would say, ‘She’s royal, though she’s small and gray.’ There were great singers in my race, Who sat upon the garden wall, Tenors, sopranos, and a bass, Who nightly concerts gave to all, And mighty hunters were the rule But Oxford thinks me such a fool. He says his mind he will not vex About such matters, that it’s base, But I am of the other sex And I delight in pride of race, But Oxford only says, says he, Strong paws are more than ancestry. To catch a mouse is better far Than grandfathers of high degree, He loved his friendly grandmamma, And nothing but a waif was she. The day is bright, some tree we’ll climb, To stay indoors would be a crime. I know if I have children fair, Some little kittens good to see, Furry and bright, a lusty pair, I’d like to have a family tree. But Oxford said, ‘Let’s have some fun, The door is open, let us run.’ So to the woods we gayly went And there we had a lively race, And such a joyous hour we spent Chasing each other round the place. ‘If you must have a family tree, I’ll find one in the woods,’ said he.