"I'm so happy--so happy!"
Everyone knows--that is, everyone who knows kittens--that kittens,
like babies, listen with their eyes. To Missy's whispered
confidence, Poppylinda, without stirring, opened her lids and
blinked her yellow eyes.
"Aren't you happy, too? Say you're happy, Poppy, darling!"
Poppy was stirred to such depths that mere eye-blinking could not
express her emotion. She opened her mouth, so as to expose
completely her tiny red tongue, and then, without lingual endeavour,
began to hum a gentle, crooning rumble down somewhere near her
stomach. Yes; Poppy was happy.
The spirit of thanksgiving glamorously enwrapped these two all the
time Missy was dressing. Like the efficient big girl of twelve that
she was, Missy drew her own bath and, later, braided her own hair
neatly. As she tied the ribbons on those braids, now crossed in a
"coronet" over her head, she gave the ghost of a sigh. This morning
she didn't want to wear her every-day bows; but dutifully she tied
them on, a big brown cabbage above each ear. When she had scrambled
into her checked gingham "sailor suit," all spick and span, Missy
stood eying herself in the mirror for a wistful moment, wishing her
tight braids might metamorphose into lovely, hanging curls like
Kitty Allen's.
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