Mary repeated her whisper, more loudly this time, and the company
plainly heard the one word _cat_.
It was too true. The Adams cat was an animal of refined tastes
and, preferring pudding to her ordinary diet of bread and milk,
she had watched her chance when Mary's back was turned, and
mounting to the table, she had helped herself to the dainty dish,
which was for the moment unguarded.
Tears stood in Polly's eyes, and another minute would have brought
them down in a shower, had not the doctor burst out laughing, as
he exclaimed,--
"It's too bad, and I am sorry for you, Polly; but I don't believe
we any of us ever enjoyed a dinner more than we have this one."
And Mrs. Hapgood added hastily,--
"Yes, and we mothers have all been through it ourselves so many
times, too."
[Illustration: ALAS FOR POLLY! SOME ONE ELSE HAD THOUGHT THE
PUDDING A SUCCESS."]
All this was like Hebrew to Miss Bean, who was at a loss to see
why they should all be administering comfort to Polly. But there
could be no doubt that something was wrong, so she inquired, with
an air of stony censure,--
"What is the matter, for the land sakes? If Polly can't eat what's
set before her, she can go without.
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