The cat rubbed against the tree, mewing and purring by turns, then
sprang up in the tree after her. She took the warm, furry creature in
her arms and began talking to it.
"Oh, Solomon," she said, "what do you suppose is the matter over there?
My poor old lady must be monsieur's sister, or she couldn't have looked
exactly like that picture, and he would not have acted so queerly. What
do you suppose it is that he can never forgive? Why did he call me in
there and then drive me out in such a crazy way, and tramp around the
room, and put his head down on his arms as if he were crying?"
Solomon purred louder and closed his eyes.
"Oh, you dear, comfortable old thing," exclaimed Joyce, giving the cat a
shake. "Wake up and take some interest in what I am saying. I wish you
were as smart as Puss in Boots; then maybe you could find out what is
the matter. How I wish fairy tales could be true! I'd say 'Giant
scissors, right the wrong and open the gate that's been shut so long,'
There! Did you hear that, Solomon Greville? I said a rhyme right off
without waiting to make it up. Then the scissors would leap down and
cut the misunderstanding or trouble or whatever it is, and the gate
would fly open, and there the brother and sister would meet each other.
All the unhappy years would be forgotten, and they'd take each other by
the hand, just as they did when they were little children, Martin and
Desire, and go into the old home together,--on Christmas Day, in
the morning.
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