"Oh, look at the little kittie! I want to rub the little kittie!"

A small cat had crawled out from under one stand and was walking along
the street. Margy saw it, and, being very fond of animals, she wanted to
pet it.

But the cat, young as it was, seemed to be afraid. As Margy ran from
Rose's side and trotted after the furry animal, it gave a sudden scamper
under another stand.

But Margy had chased kittens before, and she knew that once they got
under something they generally stayed near the front edge, hoping they
would not be seen. By stooping down, and reaching, she had often pulled
her own kitten out from under her mother's dresser.

"I can get you! I can get you!" laughed the little girl.

Paying no attention to her clean, white stockings, which her mother had
put on her only that morning, Margy knelt down on the sidewalk, and
stretched her arms under the fruit stand, beneath which the
half-frightened kitten had crawled.

If the little cat had known that Margy only wanted to stroke it softly
and pet it I am sure it would not have run away. But that is what it
did, and that is what caused all the trouble. For there was trouble.
I'll tell you about it.

"Come on out, kittie!" called Margy. "Come on out! I won't hurt you! I
like kitties, I do! Come on out and let me rub you!"