grows peaceful
and pleasant again.

From the time he was a tiny kitten Ebony had known no home, and such
food as he had was picked up when and wherever he chanced to find it. He
had won many and lost few of his many cat battles, but he did not like
to fight and never did it unless obliged to.

Snowball had never struck or received a blow in all of her carefully
guarded life. She was a finely bred Angora that had taken many prizes at
the cat shows, while her meals--far from being irregularly picked
up--had always been brought to her on a silver tray as regularly as the
sun rose--and considerably oftener!

One bright cold November afternoon Snowball was wandering restlessly
around looking for something--anything--some excitement! As she passed
the Dresden saucer filled with rich cream she sniffed, and when she
caught sight of her silk-cushioned basket she fairly switched her tail.
Even the favourite spot on the warm hearth failed to allure.

Outside the wind blew the few remaining leaves from the trees in
tempting swirls to the pavement, but _she_ could not play with them. She
was shut indoors for fear she might be stolen or stray! Stray! She would
_run_ away as soon as she found the chance!

As she wandered into the broad hall some one opened the front door to
pass through it, and Miss Pussy saw and seized her chance. Like a flash
she darted down the steps and up the street, never stopping until she
was well out of sight of the house. Then she paused and looked curiously
around.

Close under the railing of a shabby area, not many blocks from
Snowball's home, she spied three rough-coated, gaunt cats greedily
drinking from a dish of sooty skim milk. The saucer was thick and
cracked, and--worse yet!--had not been washed since it contained boiled
onions, but to the pampered runaway it seemed far more desirable than
the cream she had left untasted in her own Dresden china plate.

As she edged slowly toward them the three waifs paid no attention to
her, beyond giving a warning growl or two, which Snowball--not
understanding that she could be unwelcome--mistook for their usual way
of speaking. With a friendly "P-r-r-r-rh!" of greeting she drew near,
and lapped daintily at the strongly flavoured milk. Was it hunger, or
the feeling of liberty and comradeship that made it taste so good and
made her for one short instant perfectly happy?

Then a stinging blow on one ear, followed immediately by a sharp slap on
the side o