Peggy did not think of Lady Jane again until supper-time, when Mrs. Owen said to Alice, “I’ve warmed some milk for the cat. It is in the blue pitcher; you can turn it into her saucer.”

Peggy kept very still. She hoped against hope that her furry little gray friend would come at the sound of her name. “I can’t find her anywhere, mother,” said Alice.

“I haven’t seen her all the afternoon, now I think of it,” said Mrs. Owen. “Did you see her, Peggy? Do you suppose she could have slipped out when Michael Farrell came in?”

“I am afraid she did, mother,” said Peggy.

“Well, Peggy Owen,” said Alice, “I never knew any one as careless as you are. You ought to be punished.”

“You are not my mother,” said Peggy.

“It is a very serious matter,” and Alice gave a wise shake to her small head. “It is the second time you’ve let her get out.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Owen, “if she is so anxious to live at the other house and they want to keep her, suppose we let them have her? The other day when I called, Mrs. Carter told me how fond her little girl was of her, and the child hasn’t been well.”

“Give up Lady Jane!” cried Peggy in dismay.

“Mother, what are you thinking of!” said Alice. “She’s one of the family. Would you give me up if I kept going back to the Carters’?”

“Certainly not; but that is entirely different.”

“I love Lady Jane just as much as you love me, mother,” said Alice.

“That is impossible. Don’t talk such nonsense,” said her mother.

It seemed an extreme statement, even to Peggy. “Do you love her as much as you love mother?” she asked.

Alice paused to consider.

“Don’t ask her such a trying question, Peggy. She would probably find it a little less convenient to live without me than without the cat; but if you children care so much about her you can go and get her. It is too much to expect them to send her back again.”

Mrs. Owen telephoned to Mrs. Carter and found that the cat had been spending the afternoon with them.

“I won’t trouble you to send her back,” said Mrs. Owen. “The children will go for her to-morrow afternoon.”

The next day Peggy and Alice could hardly wait to finish their dinner, they were so eager to go for Lady Jane and get back in time to spend a long afternoon with Clara. As they came near the Carters’ house, they saw Christopher just coming out of the gate.

“So you are going to take the cat back again?” he said disapprovingly, as he looked at the basket.

“She’s our cat,” Alice said sweetly, but very firmly.

Christopher looked down at Alice, who smiled up at him and showed her dimples.

“Yes, of course, she is your cat,” he said; for nobody could resist Alice. “But it seems too bad to yank her out every time she comes back to her old place.”

“We’ve had her a very long time,” said Alice. “I can hardly remember anything before we had her.”

“She must be a very old cat,” said Christopher, laughing.

It seemed strange to ring the doorbell of their own old house. The front door was painted green now and it had a shiny brass knocker. The office door was green, too. It was sad not to see their dear father’s name there any more. “Dr. T. H. Carter” seemed very unnatural. The grass was beginning to grow green, and the snowdrops and crocuses were in blossom by the front door. Mrs. Carter opened the door for them herself. She looked so pleasant that Peggy wanted to kiss her.

“I know you’ve come for Lady Jane,” she said, glancing at the basket. “She’s out calling this afternoon, but I’m sure she’ll be in before long. While you are waiting for her you can go up and see Diana. She is expecting you. You can go upstairs; she is out on the piazza.”

Everything seemed strange and yet familiar about the house. There was a new paper in the hall, and the floor and the stairs had been done over. They went out on the upper side piazza, which was glassed in, and here Diana was lying in a hammock that looked almost like a bed. Peggy loved Diana the moment she saw her. She had the same friendly face that Mrs. Carter had. Her hair was a sunshiny brown and so were her eyes, and her face, too, was a warm color, as if she had been out of doors a great deal. She had on a pale green wrapper with pink roses and green leaves embroidered on it. Peggy thought she had never seen anything so sweet in her life as Diana was, lying there in her green wrapper. She seemed a part of the pleasant springtime. Peggy noticed a copy of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” lying on the hammock. This was one of her favorite books, and she began to talk about it at once.

Alice’s attention was caught by the sight of a flaxen-haired doll lying beside Diana in the hammock. “So you like dolls?” Alice said.

“I just love them,” said Diana.

“So do I,” said Alice.

And Peggy felt quite left out.

“What’s her name?” Alice asked.

“Alice.”

“That’s my name.”

“I named her for the ‘Wonderland Alice.’”

“Oh, but now she must be my namesake. I’ll be her aunt. She can call me ‘Aunt Alice.’”

Peggy picked up “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” while Diana and Alice made friends over the doll.

“Doesn’t your sister like to play dolls?” asked Diana.

“No,” said Alice, “and I don’t see why, for she makes up such exciting things when she does play. Yesterday when we played with Clara she had the dolls fly in an aeroplane, and she took them up into the highest branch of the apple tree.”

“Oh, do play with us now,” Diana begged.

So Peggy good-naturedly put down her book, and Alice, the doll, had never had so many exciting adventures in all her young life. They were so busy playing they did not any of them hear Lady Jane’s quiet footsteps as she climbed the rose trellis. Peggy saw her first, a furry, gray ball, poised lightly on the piazza rail. Alice saw her give a spring through the open pane of glass and land on the hammock. She was giving her joyous tea-kettle purr, and, oh, it was too much to bear, she was actually licking Diana’s hand.

“Darling pussy,” said Diana. She held her lovingly against her shoulder, and stroked her gray back.

Alice could hardly bear it. “Lady Jane, I am here,” she said.

But Lady Jane did not stir. Diana moved her into a more comfortable position, and she curled herself down for a nap.

Alice could bear it no longer. She went over, and, picking her up, she said, “You are going to stay with me.”

But Lady Jane scratched Alice’s hands in her desire to escape, and gave a flying leap back to the hammock.

Peggy almost decided to take her mother’s advice and let Diana keep the cat. She seemed to love her so very much, and to have so much less to make her happy than they had. It must be hard to lie still instead of being able to frisk about wherever one pleased. And yet, Diana looked happy. She didn’t see why; she knew she could not be happy if she had to keep still like that.

“I think we ought to be going now,” said Peggy, “because we told Clara we’d come early. We might leave Lady Jane to make Diana a little visit.” This seemed a good compromise.

“No,” said Alice, with decision, “I want to take her back right off now.”

So Peggy helped Alice put the struggling cat into the basket. They shut the cover down tight, paying no attention to Lady Jane’s dismal mews.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” said Diana, a little sadly. “Do come again soon, and perhaps you’ll bring Lady Jane with you.”

“We’ll come again soon,” said Peggy.

“Yes,” said Alice; and in her own mind she thought, “We’ll never, never bring Lady Jane.”