The next morning, however, she came
again, and Mr. Gay, who was waiting for his breakfast, was called to the
window.
"'My cat has come again, papa, with another mouse--a monstrous one,
too.'
"'That isn't a mouse,' Mr. Gay said, looking at the plump, silver-gray
creature Furry-Purry carefully deposited on the piazza-floor. 'Bless me!
I believe it is that rascal of a mole that's gnawed my hyacinth and
tulip bulbs. I offered the gardener's boy two dollars if he would catch
the villain. To whom does that cat belong, Winnie? She's worth her
weight in gold.'
"'I don't believe she belongs to anybody, papa; but I think she wants
to belong to us, for she keeps coming and coming. _May_ I have her for
mine? I am sure mamma will say yes if you are willing.'
"'Why not?' said he. 'Run for a saucer of milk, and we will coax her
in.'
"We who are acquainted with Furry-Purry's private history know how
little coaxing was needed.
"As soon as the door was opened she walked in, and, laying the dead mole
at Mr. Gay's feet, rubbed herself against his leg, purred gently, looked
up into his face with her round bright eyes, and, in very expressive cat
language, claimed him for her master. When he stooped to caress her, and
praised and petted her for the good service she had rendered him, the
happy creature rolled over and over on the soft carpet in an ecstasy of
delight.
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