Elizabeth Ann bent her thin face over the warm, furry, friendly little animal.  She could not speak.  She had always wanted a kitten, but Aunt Frances and Aunt Harriet and Grace had always been sure that cats brought diphtheria and tonsilitis and all sorts of dreadful diseases to delicate little girls.  She was afraid to move for fear the little thing would jump down and run away, but as she bent cautiously toward it the necktie of her middy blouse fell forward and the kitten in the middle of a yawn struck swiftly at it with a soft paw.  Then, still too sleepy to play, it turned its head and began to lick Elizabeth Ann’s hand with a rough little tongue.  Perhaps you can imagine how thrilled the little girl was at this!

She held her hand perfectly still until the kitten stopped and began suddenly washing its own face, and then she put her hands under it and very awkwardly lifted it up, burying her face in the soft fur.  The kitten yawned again, and from the pink-lined mouth came a fresh, milky breath.  “Oh!” said Elizabeth Ann under her breath.  “Oh, you darling!” The kitten looked at her with bored, speculative eyes.

Elizabeth Ann looked up now at Aunt Abigail and said, “What is its name, please?” But the old woman was busy turning over a griddle full of pancakes and did not hear.  On the train Elizabeth Ann had resolved not to call these hateful relatives by the same name she had for dear Aunt Frances, but she now forgot that resolution and said, again, “Oh, Aunt Abigail, what is its name?”

Aunt Abigail faced her blankly.  “Name?” she asked.  “Whose ... oh, the kitten’s?  Goodness, child, I stopped racking my brain for kitten names sixty years ago.  Name it yourself.  It’s yours.”

Elizabeth Ann had already named it in her own mind, the name she had always thought she would call a kitten by, if she ever had one.  It was Eleanor, the prettiest name she knew.

Aunt Abigail pushed a pitcher toward her.  “There’s the cat’s saucer under the sink.  Don’t you want to give it some milk?”

Elizabeth Ann got down from her chair, poured some milk into the saucer, and called:  “Here, Eleanor!  Here, Eleanor!”

Aunt Abigail looked at her sharply out of the corner of her eye and her lips twitched, but a moment later her face was immovably grave as she carried the last plate of pancakes to the table.

Elizabeth Ann sat on her heels for a long time, watching the kitten lap the milk, and she was surprised, when she stood up, to see that Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry had come in, very red-cheeked from the cold air.

“Well, folks,” said Aunt Abigail, “don’t you think we’ve done some lively stepping around, Betsy and I, to get supper all on the table for you?”