r's
afternoon, when the kittens were all enjoying themselves at
tea; when Paulina, the eldest, was warbling some of her most
delightful songs, and Violet, the second, was entertaining
the rest, in an under tone, with a little bit of scandal
about a neighbouring Tabby, whom she had seen coming home in
a sad condition about five o'clock in the morning, when she,
Miss Violet, was taking her early walk;--just at this moment
there sounded a tap at the door, and presently in came
Diana, the youngest sister, bearing in her hand more cakes
for tea, and in the plate with them a note addressed to Miss
Rose,--the next to Violet in age, and by most people
considered the beauty of the family. Violet took the letter
eagerly from Diana; but when she saw the address, she
remarked that it was evidently a gentleman's handwriting,
and tossing her head somewhat disdainfully, she handed it to
Miss Rose, who blushed very much, and retired with it to the
sofa. Rose opened the note with trembling paws, and a sweet
smile played on her features as she read its contents; then,
carefully folding it up, she observed to her sisters that it
was merely an invitation for a walk, and springing on to the
back of the sofa, she jumped through the open window, and
retired to her own summer-house up a fine sycamore-tree in
the garden.

This incident, as may be imagined, caused a great sensation
among the sisters; and all wondered very much who could have
been the writer of the note that had so evidently pleased
Miss Rose. One hoped it was not from that scapegrace Tom who
lived at the Farm-yard; another feared it might come from
young Marten Sable of the Forest; and Violet demanded of her
youngest sister what sort of person it was who had brought
the note. Diana did not know, but believed it was a relation
of old Mr. Weasel, who belonged to the same farm that Tom
did. This set them all guessing again, for it was well known
that Tom and Old Weasel did not speak to each other: and in
the end they were all just as wise as in the beginning.

[Illustration: ENSIGN SQUEAKER AND MISS ROSE.]

About seven o'clock the same evening an attentive observer
might have noticed Miss Rose emerging from her door very
quietly, and making the best of her way to the green fields
that bordered the sea-coast close by. An ill-natured person
would have said that Miss Rose had taken especial pains with
her toilet, and that she carried her parasol with a
lack-a-daisical air;