Perched on top of Rusty Wren's tin house, Miss Kitty Cat had been enjoying herself thoroughly, while the birds made a great how-dy-do and tried in vain to frighten her away.

When she heard all at once an unexpected meaow she showed that it startled her.

"A cat!" cried Miss Kitty. "I didn't suppose there was another cat for miles around." She looked about on all sides, on the ground and in the tree-tops. And there was no cat anywhere in sight.

Meanwhile the birds were all exclaimp. 62ing, "There! He's here. Now Miss Kitty Cat had better watch out."

Again a strange, mocking catcall sounded from somewhere. There was a sort of jeer about it that aroused Miss Kitty Cat's anger.

"He's come, has he?" she exclaimed to little Mr. Chippy, who chattered at her from a good, safe distance. "If he's looking for a fight I'd be pleased to have him come and get it."

Whoever the stranger was, and wherever he was, he knew how to tease Miss Kitty Cat. Now he howled at her from the thicket of lilac bushes on the edge of the flower garden. Now he mewed at her from the hedge in front of the farmhouse. And though Miss Kitty Cat tried to get a glimpse of him, she couldn't see anything that even faintly resembled a cat.

The annoying cries moved from onep. 63 place to another. She was sure of that. But the one that made them managed to stay hidden.

"This is queer!" Miss Kitty Cat said to herself. "Can it be that there's a cat's voice around here, and nothing more? A cat without a voice wouldn't be so strange. But a voice without a cat—that's the oddest thing I ever heard of!"

At last Rusty Wren seemed to take heart. And his wife, inside their house, abused Miss Kitty Cat loudly—or as loudly as she could from inside the tin syrup can.

"I always knew you were a coward," she told Miss Kitty. "You're always ready to attack us small people. But you don't dare fight anybody of your own size."

"How can I fight a person that I can't see?" Miss Kitty asked. "If this noisyp. 64 stranger would come out in the open I'd soon show you whether I'd fight him or not. I'd teach him—if I could get hold of him—not to come here and interfere when I'm making a neighborly call."

"Nonsense!" cried Mrs. Wren. "You don't mean half you say. If you weren't a fraud you'd go and find this person that's jeering at you."

"Meaow-ow-ow!" Again that mocking call grated on Miss Kitty's ears.

"There!" Mrs. Wren exclaimed. "There it is again. It would make me pretty angry to be talked to like that. But I don't suppose it bothers you. Probably you're used to having people caterwaul at you."

That was a little more than Miss Kitty Cat could stand. She scrambled down from the old cherry tree and ran across the yard to the row of currant bushes,p. 65 whence the last catcalls had come.

As she drew near, a slim slate-colored bird gave a harsh laugh as he flew up from the bushes. It was Mr. Catbird. And Miss Kitty Cat felt sheepish enough when she saw him. She knew that he had succeeded in fooling her with his mocking cries.

The birds—with Mr. Catbird among them, and Mrs. Wren, too—all gathered round Miss Kitty and made such a clamor that she crept away and hid in the haymow. She never could endure much noise, unless she made most of it herself—by the light Of the moon.

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