round eyes.

"Oh," said Dorothy. "There's Eureka."

"First time I ever saw a pink cat," said Zeb.

"Eureka isn't pink; she's white. It's this queer light that gives her
that color."

"Where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into Dorothy's face.
"I'm 'most starved to death."

"Oh, Eureka! Can you talk?"

"Talk! Am I talking? Good gracious, I believe I am. Isn't it
funny?" asked the kitten.

"It's all wrong," said Zeb, gravely. "Animals ought not to talk. But
even old Jim has been saying things since we had our accident."

"I can't see that it's wrong," remarked Jim, in his gruff tones. "At
least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. What's going to become
of us now?"

"I don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously.

The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and
transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as through
a window. Dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood,
several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make