With a wail of woe Tabitha fled up the trail to her hidden chamber among the boulders and threw herself on the ground to sob out her grief and anger over this unexpected and wholly unwelcome pet. That she would regard the gift as an insult when he had presented it with the best of intentions had never occurred to the father, and not understanding her antipathy for all of the feline tribe, he was naturally somewhat angry at her attitude; so he insisted that the cat had come to stay. And indeed it looked as if she had, for no one wanted the homely, starved creature, and though three times Tabitha surreptitiously pushed her down the shaft of an abandoned mine on the other side of the mountain, the animal always appeared serenely at meal time with a more ravenous appetite than ever, and Tabitha began to think that the "nine lives of a cat" was no joke, but a dreadful reality. "I wish the owners of that thing had kept her. It was cruel to tie her to the yucca and leave her to starve to death, but I 'most wish she'd been dead when Dad found her. I hate the sight of her." She was sitting on the lower step, elbows on her knees and chin resting in her hands as she somberly surveyed the greedy animal lapping up the milk she had just set before it, and vainly wished she had no pet at all. The kitchen door opened behind her and the father stepped out on the porch. His quick glance took in the whole situation in an instant, and recalling the conversation concerning the dog a few nights previously, he asked with some curiosity, "What have you named your cat, Tabitha?" Without lifting her eyes or manifesting any interest in the subject she answered briefly, "Lynne Maximilian." The man started as if he could not believe his ears, and then with an almost audible chuckle of amusement, he descended the steps and strode rapidly up the path toward the town. CHAPTER VII THE NEW BOY There was a new boy at school. In this little town with its ever changing population of miners and fortune seekers, the advent of a stranger as a usual thing caused little if any excitement. But with this boy it was different, though the children could not have explained wherein he was unlike themselves. It could not be his clothes, for Jimmy Gates, the hotel-keeper's son, was the best-dressed boy in town; it could not be his appearance, for though he was undoubtedly good-looking, he did not begin to be as handsome as Herman Richards; it could not be the place where he lived, for the Carson house was the largest and most attractive in town. And yet there was something about him that won him a ready welcome wherever he went.