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Fri May 31 22:45:45 UTC 2019

ABC Report (Morning Edition)


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--the steep, ladder-like stairs that led to the hay-loft. Betsy scrambled rapidly up, too. It was dark up there, compared to the gorgeous-colored October day outside, and for a moment she could not see Eleanor. Then she made her out, a dim little shape, picking her way over the hay, and she heard her talking. Yes, it was real talk, quite, quite different from the loud, imperious

--miauw! with which Eleanor asked for her milk. This was the softest, prettiest kind of conversation, all little murmurs and chirps and sing-songs. Why, Betsy could almost understand it! She could understand it enough to know that it was love-talk, and then, breaking into this, came a sudden series of shrill, little, needle-like cries that fairly filled the hay-loft. Eleanor gave a bound forward and disappeared. Betsy, very much excited, scrambled and climbed up over the hay as fast as she could go. It was all silent now—the piercing, funny little squalls had stopped as suddenly as they began. On the top in a little nest lay

--hear. Or rather she seemed to hear something else. For she stopped short, her head lifted, her ears pricked up, listening very hard to some distant sound. Then Betsy heard it, too, somebody coming into the barn below, little, quick, uneven footsteps. It must be little Molly, tagging along, as she always did. What fun to show Molly the kittens! Betsy! called Molly from below. Molly! called Betsy from above. Come up here quick! Ive got something up here. There was a sound of scrambling, rapid feet on the rough stairs, and Mollys yellow curls appeared, shining in the dusk. Ive got a ... she began, but Betsy did not let her

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