After supper Billy thought longingly of his orange. He wondered if it was thick-skinned and if it was juicy. He felt pretty sure it was sweet, and the more he thought of it the sweeter it seemed to his imagination. Billy was just saying to himself that, if he had not given away his orange, he would eat it without asking his mother for sugar, when he stumbled upon Gerald leaning over the wood-box in the kitchen.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" demanded Billy.

"What business is it of yours, I'd like to know? Why don't you go back in the other room?" Gerald grumbled, making rather lively motions around three sides of the wood-box, as he tried to keep his back toward Billy.

"Aw, pig!" sniffed Billy, "eating your orange out here where nobody'd see you, so you wouldn't have to divide. Orange juice running all down your arm, and I'm glad of it, pig!"

"Got an orange of your own," was Gerald's retort.

"Haven't either," declared Billy.

"Then you've eaten it up, and now who's a pig, I'd like to know? I offered to divide my orange with Selma, but she was in a hustle to get her dishes washed and get down-town, and it isn't my fault if she couldn't wait for me to get it peeled. You're the pig, Billy, because you didn't even offer to divide with anybody."

"No, I gave my whole orange to Antoine before I even stopped to smell of it," wailed Billy, "and I guess if I had a little brother that hadn't had a smell of orange, I'd give him a piece."

Gerald whistled. "Who ever'd think you'd do such a thing, Billy? Here, little boy, is your reward of merit," and Gerald, thrusting half his orange into Billy's outstretched hand, walked away, whistling.

Half an orange made Billy wish for more. It was a sweet one and juicy. He wondered if Betty's orange was anywhere near as good. Later in the evening Gerald went out on the beach with his father to see if there were any boats in sight to be reported. While he was gone, Betty prepared to eat her orange.

"Come on, Billy," she suggested, "get your rocker, and we'll eat our oranges while mamma undresses the baby. I'm glad it is a chilly night, so we had to have a fire in the grate."

A wistful expression crept into Billy's face. "I gave my orange to Antoine to take to 'Phonse," was his reply in sorrowful tones.

"Why, you dear, good Billy, you shall have half of mine. Bring your rocker here beside of me, and we'll eat my orange together. See my saucer of sugar. I'll divide that with you, too."

Billy, more than willing, was thoroughly enjoying himself when Gerald returned. The minute the door was opened, the boy stuffed the last piece of his half of Betty's orange into his mouth so quickly Betty couldn't imagine what ailed him.

Gerald's remark upon beholding this performance was an explosion. "Pig!" he shouted. Explanations followed, and Billy was sent into the kitchen to do some quiet thinking. The cat followed him, whether from curiosity or because she liked Billy, it is impossible to say.

When Billy climbed into a hard, uncomfortable chair, so high his feet couldn't touch the floor, the cat jumped upon another chair and settled down to watch him. At first Billy looked ashamed of himself and miserable. For a minute he seemed to think of pulling his loose tooth; but, after touching it ever so gently, he shook his head. Then, observing a strange expression on the cat's face, Billy half-smiled; that is, the smile stopped just below his eyes, whose solemn stare remained unchanged.

That was enough for the cat. With a remark that sounded exactly like what she used to say to her kittens when she brought them a mouse, she bounded into Billy's chair, and began rubbing against him, purring cheerfully. By the time she had flourished her tail in his face, licked his hands, and clawed at his red sweater for a few seconds, Billy laughed merrily.

Perhaps if the cat had minded her own business, Billy would not have forgotten his disgrace so quickly. However that may be, the small boy slipped down from his chair and had a good time. He played tiger in the jungle with the cat until she objected; then he played he was the northwest wind, sending everything helter-skelter before his icy breath.

Suddenly Billy bethought him of a new game, and a few minutes later the whole family rushed into the kitchen half-fearing that the stove must have fallen upon the child, so unusual was the racket they heard. There was no cause for alarm. At the moment Billy was Antoine's cow. A big tin pail attached to his waist by Betty's jumping-rope was the black stick of wood.

When the family appeared at the door, the cow was standing in front of the black stick of wood, stamping its feet and snorting, "Woof! woof! woof!" The cat was nowhere in sight.