Who could have carried away those dear, dear little duckies?
Who indeed?
About this time the unprincipled old cat was found in the cellar, wiping her lips and purring over a little soft, speckled down.
"It was you that did it, was it, you wicked mizzable kitty ?" burst forth the bereaved Dotty behind the swinging broomstick.

"I must strike you with the soft end.

I will! I will! If I'd known before that you'd eat live duckies! O, pussy, pussy, when I've given you my own little bones on a plate with gravy!" "Whose little bones did you say, my dear!" asked Abner.
"Chickens and turkeys, and so forth!" replied Dotty, dancing about in her rage.
"Why, dear little damsel, do I really understand you to say you eat chickens?
Then you are as bad as the cat." "Why, Abner!" "And worse, for you have no claws." "No claws ?" "No--have you?
If you had, I should conclude they had been made to tear little birds and mice in pieces." "Is that what kitty's claws were made for ?" "So I am told.

The truth is, she behaves much better for a cat than you do for a little girl." Dotty scowled at her feet and patted them with the broom.
"And better than I do for a young man." "But she ate my duckies--so there!" "And Prudy's too," said Abner.

"But Prudy doesn't beat her for it.