remark, and turning, fixed his large, round, yellow eyes on the little
boy. "Don't you like milk, young man?" he asked.

"Why, yes," said Peter, very puzzled, "but not _that_ kind, you know."

"Well, milk's milk these hard times," said Prowler, wagging his head.
"It don't do to be too particerler. You like mice, don't you?" he
continued.

"Why, _I_ like candy mice," said Peter grinning, "but I never knew
before that cats did!"

"Sh-sh!" Poor Prowler began to tremble all over and look anxiously
about him. "Not a word of that," he murmured, "or I'm a dead cat! You
keep mum about that little affair, young'un, and I'll do you a good
turn yet, see if I don't!"

"All right; don't you forget!" whispered Peter.

The procession was now approaching a house considerably larger than
any of the others and which had "The Pirattery" written in large
letters over its door. Mittens led the way inside, the mates with the
children and all the other pirates followed, together with as many of
the island cats as could squeeze themselves in. The Pirattery, so the
children were informed by Growler and Prowler, was an assembly hall or
general meeting-place for the pirates when on shore. Its floor and
the little platform at one end were strewn with rat-skin rugs of the
finest quality, and its walls were adorned with handsomely stuffed and
mounted mouse and fish heads, snake skins, and other trophies of the
chase.