Before she could finish the sentence Edith heard the warning tinkle of the tea-bell, and sprang up suddenly, exclaiming:  “Good-by, Mrs.—­good-by, madam, I must go now.  You’ve been very kind, thank you.  Good-by.”

And out of the door and away she skipped, leaving her hostess, who had not heard the bell, to wonder at her haste.  “She went like a shot off a shovel,” said the good lady, taking up her knitting-work.  “She seemed to be such a well-mannered little girl, too!  What got into her all at once?  She acted as if she was ‘possessed of the fox.’”

This is a common expression in Japan, and naturally Mrs. McQuilken had caught it up, as she had caught up other odd things in her travels.  She was something of a mocking-bird in her way, was the captain’s widow.

“I’ve taken quite a fancy to Edith,” she added, “a minute more and I should have offered to give her the zebra kitty.  But there, I shouldn’t want to make a fuss in the family.  That woman, her mother, to think of her talking so hard about cats!  She doesn’t look like that kind of a woman.  I’m surprised.”

Edith ran back to her mother breathless.

“Oh, mamma, I was having such a good time!  And she didn’t appear to be ‘annoyed,’ she talked just as fast all the time!  But the bell rang while she was saying something and I had to run.”

“Had to run?  I hope you were not abrupt, my child?”

“Oh, no, mamma, not at all.  I said ‘good-by’ twice, and thanked her and told her she had been very kind.  That wasn’t abrupt, was it?  But oh, that kitty’s tail!  I forget how many inches and a quarter longer than any other kitty’s tail in this state!  And they are not cold-hearted,—­I mean cats,—­I promised to tell you.”

Here followed an account of the two cat-sisters, who loved each other better than girl-sisters.

“And think of one of them dying of grief, the sweet thing!  Human people don’t die of grief, do they, mamma?”

“Not often, Edith.  Such instances have been known, but they are very rare.”

“Well,” struck in wee Lucy, who had been listening to the touching story, “well, I guess some folks would!  Bab would die for grief of me, and I would die for grief of Bab; we said we would!”

She made this absurd little speech with tears in her eyes; but Kyzie and Edith dared not laugh, for mamma’s forefinger was raised.  Mamma never allowed them to ridicule the friendship of the two little girls, who had made believe for more than a year that they were “aunt” and “niece.”  The play might be rather foolish, but the love was very sweet and true.

Lucy had been thinking all day of Barbara and longing for her arrival.  A full hour before it was time for the stage she went a little way up the mountain with Jimmy, and they took turns gazing down the winding, dusty road through a spy-glass.  “I shan’t wait here any longer.  What’s the use?” declared Jimmy.