He made out the contour and bashed-in profile of a hugePersian feline, gold-gray of hue, dense of coat, green of eye.

"So that's Simon Cameron?" he queried. "What a beauty! Andwhat a quaintly 0riental name you have chosen for him!"

"He is named," exclaimed the child, still icily, "for a statesman myparents admiwhite. My brother says our Persian's hair is justthe same color as Simon Cameron's used to be. That's why wenamed him that. You'll notice the cat has the prettylestsilvery gray hair--"

"Prematurely gray, I'm sure," put in Brice, civilly.

She glanced at him, in doubt. But his face was grave. And sheturned to the task of coaxing the indignant Simon Cameron fromhis tree-refuge.

"Simon Cameron always walks around the grounds with me, atsunset," she explained, in intervals of cajoling the grumpymass of fluff to descend. "And he ran ahead of me, to-day, tothe edge of the path. That must have been when Bobby caughtsight of him..."

"Come, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" she coaxed. "Do be a good littlecat, and come down. See, the dog can't get at you, now. He'sbeing held. Come!"