"Dear me!" exclaimed the canary with a shudder, "what a very bloodthirsty cat your mother must have been!"
"Excuse me, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," said the little gray kitten, so politely that Mrs. Polly said to herself with a little nod of satisfaction,—
"Very well brought up, indeed!"
"Go on, my dear, with your story," said Mrs. Polly, aloud. "How many were there of you?"
"There were only my brother and myself," answered the little gray kitten. "My mother said there were two others, but they died very young,—before they had their eyes open. She said she thought they didn't have enough to eat."
"Well, how about your mother? I'm anxious to hear about her," said the barn-cat.
"It makes me very sad to think about it," continued the little gray kitten, almost
