Meantime the other Miller girl had made a second call at the house in the lane which Reuben’s father had built. When her rat-a-tat at the door sounded drearily as from an empty house, the girl said to herself that it was too much. Most likely the ogress had slain her lovely daughter and then fallen dead herself and their corpses lay stretched upon the organ platform in the room which would never be a living-room thereafter. But the lovely daughter came to the door. The cold, haughty expression on her face changed to eagerness as she saw Anna and she smiled sweetly and rather touchingly. “O Miss Miller, I am so glad--to see you,” she said. But with the last words enthusiasm had become dismay. She paled and looked appealingly at Anna. “Don’t call me Miss Miller, please. Nobody does. And--may I come in?” asked Anna. “I am so sorry, Miss--Anna, but mother--we don’t have company, you know.” “But I’m not company. And anyhow, I’ve got to come in this once for I’ve got something for you,” Anna declared. As the proud look returned to the older girl’s face and she started to say something in regard to her mother, Anna drew forth from the covert of her jacket a tiny ball of a maltese kitten with a white parting between its baby blue eyes, a line of white waistcoat, and four white paws, two of which had extra toes. Nothing could have been rounder or silkier or more altogether appealing than this baby kitten with its round, innocent eyes and its bit of pink tongue visible, and as Anna held it out, the other girl took it ecstatically and held it close to her face. Then she cried out impulsively to her mother and ran with it to her. Anna followed her in, closing the door behind her.