Down at my feet on the red tiles in front of a roaring great fire sit a great black cat and a soft white Angora pussy. They are named Ebony and Snowball and are as different in nature as they are in colour, but are devoted friends for all that. Possibly because of it! for where Snowball is timid, Ebony will bravely lead the way; while if Ebony is cross, Snowball will purr and coax and cuddle until he gradually grows peaceful and pleasant again.

From the time he was a tiny kitten Ebony had known no home, and such food as he had was picked up when and wherever he chanced to find it. He had won many and lost few of his many cat battles, but he did not like to fight and never did it unless obliged to.

Snowball had never struck or received a blow in all of her carefully guarded life. She was a finely bred Angora that had taken many prizes at the cat shows, while her meals — far from being irregularly picked up — had always been brought to her en a silver tray as regularly as the sun rose — and considerably oftener!

One bright cold November afternoon Snowball was wandering restlessly around looking for something — anything — some excitement! As she passed the Dresden saucer filled with rich cream she sniffed, and when she caught sight of her silk-cushioned basket she fairly switched her tail . Even the favourite spot on the warm hearth failed to allure.

Outside the wind blew the few remaining leaves from the trees in tempting swirls to the pavement, but she could not play with them. She was shut indoors for fear she might be stolen or stray. Stray! She would run away as soon as she found the chance!

As she wandered into the broad hall some one opened the front door to pass through it, and Miss Pussy saw and seized her chance. Like a flash she darted down the steps and up the street, never stopping until she was well out of sight of the house. Then she paused and looked curiously around.

Close under the railing of a shabby area, not many blocks from Snowball's home, She spied three rough-coated, gaunt cats greedily drinking from a dish of sooty skim milk. The saucer was thick and cracked, and — worse yet! — had not been washed since it contained boiled onions, but to the pampered runaway it seemed far more desirable than the cream she had left untasted in her own Dresden china plate.

As she edged slowly toward them the three waifs paid no attention to her, beyond giving a warning growl or two, which Snowball — not understanding that she could be unwelcome — mistook for their usual way of speaking. With a friendly greeting she drew near, and lapped daintily at the strongly flavoured milk. Was it hunger, or the feeling of liberty and comradeship that made it taste so good and made her for one short instant perfectly happy?

Then a stinging blow on one ear, followed immediately by a sharp slap on the side her head from the big grey cat, sent her reeling dizzily away from the dish. She recovered herself and turned in abject terror, her one thought to escape from this uncalled for abuse, but directly in her path stood the black-and-white cat with lashing tail and flaming eyes. Another turn, and she was again confronted by the grey, crouching angrily ready for another attack.

Snowball's heart seemed to stand still, and she shut her eyes and waited for the end, when with one bound the black cat stood between her and her enemies. He began battle instantly, and so vigourously that it was impossible to stand before the whirl-wind of flying claws and snapping teeth that he seemed to have become. Soon his opponents retired with inglorious haste, and he was victor — Snowball was saved!

In the silence that followed Snowball cautiously opened an eye and peeped around. Peace! And her deliverer again lapping at the puddle of blue milk that was spreading from the overturned saucer across the broken flagstones. He saw the timid glance and moved a little to one side with a gesture of friendly invitation.

Gratefully she crept to his side; the black and white noses bobbed busily up and down together as the pink tongues darted in and out, and the milk rapidly disappeared.

That afternoon Snowball brought Ebony home with her and seemed so fond of him that I could do no less than ask him to stay, and for the first time they sat in their now usual resting place — down at my feet on the warm red tiles.

How do I know about the rescue? Ah, that's quite a story, too; not today, Dear.

"Kittens will be Kittens."

The kittens were playing a sort of 'follow-the-leader’ in and out of their comfortable box of straw, while Mrs. Tabby Cat sat patiently by, only occasionally glancing at them to make sure that all three were safe.

Things were very comfortably arranged for the little family of pussies out in the barn, and the only possible danger to the cat babies was the St. Bernard dog's drinking dish which was set down into the barn floor, very near the wall, and kept filled with water. One of the grooms had arranged it one idle afternoon, more for his own amusement than for any real need so to place it.

"Mr-r-r-owh!" trilled Mother Cat warningly as Frisker wobbled over toward her greatest dread, that dreadful water! "Do stay near me, kittens; en you won't tumble in and get drowned." "Miew!" answered the three kittens, in three different keys. "Don't worry about us; we're all right!"

Folly, the white-nosed kitty, rose gaily on her tottery hind-legs for an instant and cuffed playfully at her mother's ear, then started across the barn floor as fast as a fat three-weeks-old kitten can tumble, followed at once by Frisker.

Calico saw them go and, anticipating a frolic, at once made up her mind to be in it. She lifted her heavy little head and started eagerly toward her stronger sisters; but the progress was slow, for Calico was feeble, and the weak little legs would slide apart, while her tail waved wildly from side to side in the effort to keep her balance.

She was a strong-minded small pussy, though weak in body, and she kept steadily on. As she drew near her goal she felt very strong and proud! One or two surprising sit-downs and a very hard bump on the pink nose in no way dampened her enthusiasm; but alas! the fall that always follows pride dampened both enthusiasm and her whole wee self for a time.

Just as she was becoming quite reckless, almost prancing, with feet stepping at least half an inch from the floor, there suddenly yawned directly in front of the astounded kitten the six-inch chasm of the drinking dish! She toppled; her tail gave a single wild twirl; and she splashed heels over head into two inches of water!

Mrs. Tabby, who had been anxiously watching the unsteady promenade sprang to the basin at once and leaning down tried to pull Calico out by the nape of the neck. To the frightened and shivering kitten — that had upon touching bottom at once gained its feet — this would have been quite as unpleasant as the cold water that was now chilling her through and through, so she protested in shrill wails.

Though she was too heavy for the little mother to lift, still Mrs. Tabby would not give up, and tried to claw her kitten out with sudden dabs, as she took the fish from the brook. This was more than any kitten could stand, and Calico rebelled openly; she spat at her worried mamma! (Of course, she did not know any better, for she was only a kitty.) The water might be cold; but at least it did not hurt, while her nose and ears smarted sharply from her mother's well-meant scratches .Then Mother Cat grew desperate and lost her head completely, circling round and round her baby, now coaxing Calico to jump out — “As if I wouldn’t if I could!" thought the kitten — now crying piteously. After what seemed to Tabby an age, but was really less than five minutes, the groom, who had really been the innocent cause of all this trouble, sauntered in and put an end to it by lifting Calico tenderly out. Gently he dried the little trembling thing, and set her down in her comfortable box once more, where Mrs. Cat at once cuddled down close beside her. Suddenly spying her sisters again, she made a fresh start only to be stopped by a well-directed slap from her mother's swift paw. "M'you, M'you!" snapped Mrs. Cat. "You just sit still for a while. I've had worry enough for one day, and I will not help you out again,"

"I don't want you to," sniffed Calico, rubbing her still smarting nose thoughtfully,

Tabby sighed, as the kitten made yet another start for her sisters, but wisely let her go.

“Did you ever?" she groaned; "but then, kittens will be kittens!''

"I've a very great longing for a sweet juicy robin; what do you say to catching one or two, you old moon-gazer?"

Whitey gave Mr. Twinkletoes Black a playful chuck under the chin, skipped gleefully across the moonlit roof and back, and sat down sociably by him, before that leisurely pussy turned his head to look scornfully at the youthful — I almost said "speaker," but as all of their conversation is in cat language perhaps "mewer" would be more exact.

"You foolish kitten! Who ever caught a robin in December?"

"My dear boy!" — Twinkletoes' tone made Whitey think he was anything but a dear boy — "When you've lived three years as I have (Whitey was just ten months old) you'll know December when you — er — feel it! It's apt to be cool, and snow — Ugh! Horrid stuff, it is; white — sticks to your feet you know; wet! —" The fussy Mr. Black shook a dainty paw at the very thought, while Whitey listened eagerly, so that the next time he would know how December felt.

"There's one nice thing about it," added Twinkletoes. "The nights are long, and one has time to sing — and sing! — and sing! One could — "

“Why can't one, Twinky?” asked Whitey hopefully.

“Oh, we might try, but — er — well, bootjacks, you know, hair-brushes, old shoes! — but it's very good exercise, this dodging."

"You said singing," corrected Whitey, rather puzzled. He didn't "know," but never having sung on roofs it was new and sounded thrilling. "Come on." he urged; "let's!" They started in, and their voices rose into awful sleep-destroying discords:

“R-r-r-i-ah — M-m-r-r-riee — Mer-r-r-row!" Louder and more banshee-like grew the noise till the expected missiles began to arrive.

Twinkletoes Black was an expert dodger and skipped gracefully from place to place, avoiding the brushes and bottles that dropped from the windows of the tall apartment house next door.

Whitey had retired, silent, after the first old slipper landed heavily on his tail; but he was admiring Mr. Black's prowess with his whole heart. Nevertheless he was glad when the excitement was over with the ''song" and they settled down by the chimney once more. The crisp air made him hungry, and again his thoughts turned birdward.

"Let's get some sparrows then," he said, as if there had been no interruption since birds were spoken of. “The early bird, you know, and it will be 'early' if we sit up much later, never saw an early bird myself, but suppose there are such things. I prefer a morning nap after these nights on. Haven't much use for early birds, usually" (To hear Whitey talk one would have thought he spent every night singing to the moon — this was his first!)

"Not a bad idea, for a youngster," said Twinkletoes pleasantly.

The two edged nearer the warm bricks and waited, purring a duet to pass the time. "Just look at that moon!" sighed Twinkletoes, still musically inclined. "Got whiskers or something, hasn't it?" asked Whitey staring curiously at the illuminated clock-face. Where he sat the moon was hidden by the chimney and invisible to him.

"And it's sitting down on the tower!"

Stretching his neck excitedly that he might better see what made it act so, he caught sight of the real moon and instantly subsided into the meekest pussy that ever roomed a roof. "I — I don't understand December moons very well," he apologized.

"So I see," Twinkletoes replied: “But how about your early birds? Hello! Your moon's whiskers say that it's after five o'clock, and that’s not early for birds. Now that I think of it, I don't believe they get up till later — at least in December!" Whitey was tired — this was the "last straw!" "Early birds!" he snorted "early fiddlesticks! after five o'clock — just shows how much a cat may believe!" And he started home. Mr. Twinkletoes followed lazily, observing calmly. "I think the early milkman will be good enough for me!"