‘You’d better take a few more,’ said Oxford. ‘You are not wanted here.’ And yet he was considerably impressed. Sally liked the appearance of the stranger, and yet she was a little afraid of him. ‘My name is Captain Ebony Black,’ said the traveling cat. ‘I’m called Eben by my friends. I’d like to fight you some day when we meet out-of-doors,’ he added as he looked at Oxford. ‘Just what I should like,’ said Oxford. ‘I always fight all the cats who come into my grounds.’ ‘Do you own the whole place?’ the traveling cat asked. ‘I thought this was where Peter lived.’ ‘He thinks he lives here,’ Oxford snarled, ‘but the place belongs to me.’ ‘And to me, too,’ put in Sally. ‘I let her live here,’ Oxford said, ‘because she is my sister.’ Elvira, who was washing dishes, turned to see what was happening, for although she could not understand their language, she could tell that some sort of a row was going on. The cats were looking at each other fiercely, one on one side of the screen and one on the other. ‘Come, Oxford, be a good cat,’ she said; ‘here is some supper for you.’ Supper, indeed! When one was longing to fight an enemy! He made a few more angry remarks to the visitor, and ended by calling him ‘Blackie,’ which was hard for Captain Ebony Black to bear, for he came of an old family. ‘Who are you, anyway?’ he growled. ‘My great-grandfather was a Furbush,’ said Oxford, ‘and he was descended from a Furbush, who was called “William the Conqueror.”’ ‘I am descended from the first Ebony Black who came to this country. There’s been an Ebony Black in each generation.’ Sally was greatly impressed, for ancestors meant so much to her. ‘Come and eat your supper like a good cat,’ said Elvira, and then, thinking that the stranger might be hungry, she took a plate of canned salmon and bread out to the back porch. ‘Elvira is feeding our enemy,’ said Oxford. He seemed a fine-looking pussy to Sally, but she said nothing. ‘The way in which all the cats in the neighborhood come into my place is outrageous!’ said Oxford, as he began to eat his fish. ‘After all,’ Sally reminded him, ‘the place is Miss Winifred’s and Elvira’s, and if they don’t mind----’ ‘I’ve explained to you a great many times, Sally, that the true owner of a place is the one who uses it the most, and so I say the back yard and the Wild Wood are mine.’ ‘Then the parlor is certainly mine,’ said Sally, ‘for I am there much more than Miss Winifred.’ ‘You can call the parlor yours, or can own the house if you like, but the land is mine.’