and a mocking-bird.

"If you had come this morning you would have seen Mag, that's the
magpie," said Mrs. McQuilken. "She's off now, pretty creature. She likes
to be picking a fuss with the chickens."

The good lady had been knitting, but she dropped her work into the large
pocket of her black apron, and moved up an easy-chair for her guest.
Edith forgot to take it. Her eyes were roving about the room, attracted
by the curiosities, though she dared not ask a single question.

"That nest on the wall looks odd to you, I dare say," said Mrs.
McQuilken. "The twigs are woven together so closely that it looks nice
enough for a lady's work-bag, now doesn't it?"

Edith said she thought it did.

"Well, that's the magpie's nest. She laid seven eggs in it once. I keep
it now for her to sleep in; it's Mag's cot-bed."

Edith's eyes, still roving, espied a handsome kitty asleep on the
lounge. It must be the zebra kitty because of its black and dove-colored
stripes. Most remarkable stripes, so regular and distinct, yet so softly
shaded. The face was black, with whiskers snow-white. How odd! Edith had
never seen white whiskers on a kitten. And then the long, sweeping
black tail!

Mrs. McQuilken watched the little girl's face and no longer doubted her
fondness for kittens.