n the
snow-crust. In summer the feathered beggars took toll as they pleased of
the cherries and small fruits in the garden.

In the garden, too, was the only martin house in town, set upon a tall
pole. There every spring a battle royal went on between the coming
martins and the impudent sparrows, as the latter horde always
appropriated the martin house during the absence of its proper owners in
the South. Each cherry tree had its robin's nest--sometimes two. Mr.
Robin likes to be near the supply of his favorite fruit. The wrens built
under the eaves of the porch, and above the windows, in sheltered
places. All the pigeons in the neighborhood flew here to strut and coo,
and help eat any grain that might be thrown out.

What one saw now, waiting at the porch steps, was principally a family
of cats. There were no less than nine posing expectantly before the
queer looking character known to Milton folks as Seneca Sprague.

First of all, Sandyface, the speckled tabby-cat, sat placidly washing
her face on the lower step. Close at her back, on the ground--one was
even playing with its mother's steadily waving tail--was Sandyface's
latest family, the four kittens bearing the remarkable names of
Starboard, Port, Hard-a-lee and Mainsheet.

Grouped farther away from the mother cat were the four well-grown young
cats, Spotty, Almira, Popocatepetl and Bungle.

Much farther in the background, and in the attitude of sleep, with his
head on his forepaws, but with a blinking eye that lost nothing of what
went on at the porch (for Mrs. MacCall might appear at any moment with
his own particular dish) lay a big Newfoundland dog, with a noble head,
intelligent brown eyes, and a muzzle now graying with age. This was the
Corner House girls' newest and most valued pet, Tom Jonah.

In addition, on the clothes-drying green, was Billy Bumps. This
suggestively named individual was a sturdy, wise-looking goat, with a
face and chin-whisker which Mrs. MacCall declared was "as long as the
moral law," and whose proclivity to eat anything that could be
masticated was well-known to the Kenway children.

This collection of dumb pets the tall, lank, barefooted man in the
broken straw hat and linen duster, now faced with a serious mien as
though he were a real preacher and addressed a human congregation.

Seneca Sprague was a harmless person, considered "not quite right," as
Tess had said, by his fellow-townsmen. Whether his oddities arose from a
d