There he blissfully went
to sleep.
Billy found him after a gleeful following of the slender woollen trail.
Mrs. Stetson was with her--but she was not gleeful.
"Oh, Aunt Hannah, Aunt Hannah," gurgled Billy, "isn't he just too cute
for anything?"
Aunt Hannah shook her head.
"I must confess I don't see it," she declared. "My dear, just look at
that hopeless snarl!"
"Oh, but it isn't hopeless at all," laughed Billy. "It's like one of
those strings they unwind at parties with a present at the end of it.
And Spunk is the present," she added, when she had extricated the small
gray cat. "And you shall hold him," she finished, graciously entrusting
the sleepy kitten to Mrs. Stetson's unwilling arms.
"But, I--it--I can't--Billy! I don't like that name," blurted out the
indignant little lady with as much warmth as she ever allowed herself to
show. "It must be changed to--to 'Thomas.'"
"Changed? Spunk's name changed?" demanded Billy, in a horrified voice.
"Why, Aunt Hannah, it can't be changed; it's HIS, you know." Then she
laughed merrily. "'Thomas,' indeed! Why, you old dear!--just suppose I
should ask YOU to change your name! Now _I_ like 'Helen Clarabella' lots
better than 'Hannah,' but I'm not going to ask you to change that--and
I'm going to love you just as well, even if you are 'Hannah'--see if I
don't! And you'll love Spunk, too, I'm sure you will.
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