Ethelwyn, feeling much relieved, slept in the canopy bed with grandmother, until long past daylight.  When she came down-stairs, the great golden pies were coming out of the oven, and the minister and his wife violated propriety and made Grandmother Van Stark proud and happy by eating two pieces each.

CHAPTER XVII Out at Grandmother’s

    Grandmother’s house, I tell you most emphatic,
    Is full of good times from cellar to the attic.

There came to Grandmother Van Stark’s one day, a forlorn black tramp kitten, mewing dismally.

Ethelwyn, who loved kittens devotedly, was melted to the verge of tears by his wailing appeals in a minor key; so she cuddled him and fed him on Lady Babby’s creamy, foamy milk.  In the intervals of eating, however, he still wailed like a lost soul.

“The critter don’t stop crying long enough to catch a mouse,” said cook, eyeing the disconsolate bundle of grief with strong disfavor.

“He almost did this morning, Hannah,” said Ethelwyn in his defense.  “I saw him watching a hole, and he’s so little yet, I grabbed him away.  Besides, I don’t like mice myself, and I was so afraid I’d see one or two.”

“No danger; his bawling will keep them away,” said Hannah, grimly.

“O, well then, his crying is some good, after all,” returned Ethelwyn, triumphantly.  “That’s a good deal nicer than killing the poor little things.”

“Humph!” said Hannah.

But Grandmother Van Stark had given orders that Johnny Bear—­so named from one of Ernest Thompson-Seton’s illustrations, which Ethelwyn thought he resembled—­was to be treated tenderly and fed often, because Ethelwyn loved him, and she herself loved to feed hungry people and animals.

But one morning there was a great commotion over the discovery that a mouse had been in Grandmother Van Stark’s room.

“This is a chance for Johnny Bear to make a reputation as a mouser,” said grandmother.  “We will take him up-stairs to-night and he shall have a chance to catch that mouse.”

“O grandmother, I’m sure he will,” said Ethelwyn, earnestly; so she talked to him that afternoon about it.

It had rained in the afternoon,—­a cold drizzly rain, so Nancy had lighted a little snapping wood-fire in Grandmother Van Stark’s sitting-room.  Into this opened the sleeping room in which was Ethelwyn’s small bed, and the big mahogany tester bed, where Grandmother Van Stark had slept for more years than Ethelwyn could imagine.

Ethelwyn put Johnny Bear and his basket in front of the grate.  It was so “comfy” that he stopped yowling at once and began to purr.

“How does middle night look, Nancy?” said Ethelwyn, as she lay in her little brass bed, watching the dancing shadows on the wall.

“Like any other time, only stiller,” replied Nancy.  “Go to sleep now, Miss Ethelwyn.”

So Ethelwyn presently fell asleep and woke up with a little start just as the clock was striking twelve.