Eleanor did not stop purring, and she looked up with friendly, trusting
eyes as her little mistress made the acquaintance of her children, but
Betsy could feel somehow that Eleanor was anxious about her kitten, was
afraid that, although the little girl meant everything that was kind,
her great, clumsy, awkward human hands weren't clever enough to hold a
baby-cat the proper way. "I don't blame you a bit, Eleanor," said Betsy.
"I should feel just so in your place. There! I won't touch it again!"
She laid the kitten down carefully by its mother. Eleanor at once began
to wash its face very vigorously, knocking it over and over with her
strong tongue. "My!" said Betsy, laughing. "You'd scratch my eyes out,
if _I_ were as rough as that!"
Eleanor didn't seem to hear. Or rather she seemed to hear something
else. For she stopped short, her head lifted, her ears pricked up,
listening very hard to some distant sound. Then Betsy heard it, too,
somebody coming into the barn below, little, quick, uneven footsteps. It
must be little Molly, tagging along, as she always did. What fun to show
Molly the kittens!
"Betsy!" called Molly from below.
"Molly!" called Betsy from above. "Come up here quick! I've got
something up here."
There was a sound of scrambling, rapid feet on the rough stairs, and
Molly's yellow curls appeared, shining in the dusk.
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