Anthea spoke first.
'Never mind,' she said. 'Do you know, I really do think they're
quieting down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk.'
'They can't understand English,' said Jane. 'You forget they're
Persian cats, Panther.'
'Well,' said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious,
'who told you "milk" wasn't Persian for milk. Lots of English
words are just the same in French--at least I know "miaw" is, and
"croquet", and "fiance". Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let's stroke
them as hard as we can with both hands, and perhaps they'll stop.'
So every one stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as
soon as a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was
pushed gently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the
hands of the strokers. And the noise was really more than half
purr when the carpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on
it, instead of rows of milk-cans, or even of milk-jugs, there was
a COW. Not a Persian cow, either, nor, most fortunately, a
musk-cow, if there is such a thing, but a smooth, sleek,
dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large soft eyes at the
gas-light and mooed in an amiable if rather inquiring manner.
Anthea had always been afraid of cows; but now she tried to be
brave.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182