Eleanor at once began to wash its face very vigorously, knocking it over and over with her strong tongue. "My!" said Betsy, laughing. "You'd scratch my eyes out, if I were as rough as that!"
Eleanor didn't seem to hear. Or rather she seemed to hear something else. For she stopped short, her head lifted, her ears pricked up, listening very hard to some distant sound. Then Betsy heard it, too, somebody coming into the barn below, little, quick, uneven foot steps. It must be little Molly, tagging along, as she always did. What fun to show Molly the kittens!
"Betsy!" called Molly from below.
"Molly!" called Betsy from above. "Come up here quick! I've got something up here."
There was a sound of scrambling, rapid feet on the rough stairs, and Molly's yellow curls appeared, shining in the dusk. "I've got a . . ." she began, but Betsy did not let her finish.
"Come here, Molly, quick! quick!" she called,
