they said nothing. She hardly knew what to 

 think. She was half inclined to leave them and 

 go back to the basket, when one of the squirrels 

 whimpered— a genuine, universal baby whimper. 

 That settled it. She was a mother, and what- 

 ever else these things in the hat might be, they 

 were babies. That was enough, especially as 

 she needed just this much baby here in the hat 

 to make good what was lacking in the basket. 



With a soft, caressing purr she stepped gently 

 into the hat, took one of the squirrels by the 

 neck, brought it to the edge of the table, and 

 laid it down for a firmer hold ; then sprang 

 lightly to the floor. Over to the basket she 

 walked and dropped it tenderly among her 

 other babies. Then, having brought the remain- 

 ing one and deposited that with the same 

 mother-care, she got into the basket herself and 

 curled down contentedly— her heart all whole. 



And this is how strange a thing mother-love 

 is ! The performance was scarcely believable. 

 Could she be so love-blind as not to see what 

 they were and not eat them? But when she 

 began to lick the little interlopers and cuddle 

 them down to their dinner as if they were her 

 [83] 



