water, too, and pick things up that must be bad
for their stomachs, when they ought to have their
milk regularly in nice, clean saucers. No, Arnold
Carruth, what we have got to do is to steal Mr.
Jim Simmons's cats and get them in nice homes
where they can earn their living catching mice and
be well cared for."

"Steal cats?" said Arnold.

"Yes, steal cats, in order to do right," said Johnny
Trumbull, and his expression was heroic, even
exalted.

It was then that a sweet treble, faltering yet
exultant, rang in their ears.

"If," said the treble voice, "you are going to
steal dear little kitty cats and get nice homes for
them, I'm going to help."

The voice belonged to Lily Jennings, who had
stood on the other side of the Japanese cedars and
heard every word.

Both boys started in righteous wrath, but Arnold
Carruth was the angrier of the two. "Mean little
cat yourself, listening," said he. His curls seemed
to rise like a crest of rage.