dilemma was already becoming plain to the
marauder herself. Her mewings grew louder and more frequent. A few more
contortions brought the climber nearer his victim. A little judicious
urging with the rake and she was within reach. The rake came down to me,
and a long, wild mew announced that Jonathan had clutched.

"I don't see how you're going to get down," I said, mopping the rain-mist
out of my eyes.

"Watch me," panted the contortionist.

I watched a curious mass descend the tree, the lantern, swinging and
jerking, fitfully illumined the pair, and I could see, now a knee and an
ear, now a hand and a yellow furry shape, now a white collar, nose, and
chin. There was a last, long, scratching slide. I snatched the lantern,
and Jonathan stood beside me, holding by the scruff of her neck a very
much frazzled yellow cat. We returned to the porch where her victims
were--one alive, in a basket, two dead, beside it, and Jonathan, kneeling,
held the cat's nose close to the little bodies while he boxed her
ears--once, twice; remonstrant mews rose wild, and with a desperate twist
the culprit backed out under his arm and leaped into the blackness.

"Don't believe she'll eat young robin for a day or two," said Jonathan.

"Is that what they were? Where were they?"

"Under the tree. She'd knocked them out."

"Could you put this one back? He seems all right--only sort of naked in
spots."

"We'll half cover the basket and hang it in the tree. His folks'll take
care of him."

Next morning early there began the greatest to-do among the robins in the
orchard. They shrieked their comments on the affair at the top of their
lungs. They screamed abusively at Jonathan and me as we stood watching.
"They say we did it!" said Jonathan. "I call that gratitude!"

I wish I could record that from that evening the cat was a reformed
character. An impression had indeed been made. All next day she stayed
under the porch, two glowing eyes in the dark. The second day she came
out, walking indifferent and debonair, as cats do. But when Jonathan took
down the basket from the tree and made her smell of it, she flattened her
ears against her head and shot under the porch again.

But lessons grow dim and temptation is freshly importunate. It was not two
weeks before Jonathan was up another tree on the same errand, and when I
considered the number of nests in our orchard, and the number of cats--none
of them really our cats--on the place, I felt t