Lavender-Green Magic by Andre Norton Read Free Book Online Page A

However, he was still so thin his bones stood out visibly under his fur.
    â€œEatin’ time again?” Grandma shook her head, but shepoured milk into his bowl and added crumbled dark bread. “Seems he has a likin’ for bread—some cats have queer tastes that way.”
    â€œAre you going to keep him?” Holly wanted to know. The cat did not bear much resemblance to those in the pictures of the cat books she had brought home from the library. She had always hoped that someday they could own a Siamese or a Persian. This cat looked like one of the half-starved prowlers they sometimes caught a glimpse of in the city.
    â€œIf he chooses to stay, he’s welcome,” Grandma said. “A cat chooses a home mostly, won’t stay with folks he don’t like nor in a place he don’t take a fancy to. We’ll see what he decides.”
    â€œWhat will you call him?” Judy wanted to know.
    â€œTomkit!” Holly was surprised at her own prompt answer. Tomkit—such a silly name! She couldn’t remember ever having heard it before! Why had she said that?
    â€œTomkit,” repeated Judy. “Oh, you mean like Tom Kitten, Mom used to read about—the one in the Roly-Poly Pudding story. I’d almost forgotten about him. ’Cause that was a book we had when we were very little.”
    â€œTomkit,” repeated Grandma thoughtfully. “All right, Tomkit he is.”
    The gray cat stopped gobbling down the contents of the bowl and looked up—straight at Holly, she was certain. Just as if he knew that name. Perhaps she had had it in mind from that long-ago storybook. Only somehow she doubted that. However, it seemed just right for this stray.
    She and Judy helped Grandma, to “straighten up” thebarn-house, as she put it. Then they went to see the things Grandpa and Crock were dragging out of the end stall. There were two bicycles, both pretty much wrecks; a wagon without a wheel, some stuffed toys, part of a train set. Most were so broken that Holly could not see much use for them. And she did not like getting into the mess. Finally she went and told Grandma she would write a letter to Mom, then climbed the stairs to find her paper and ballpoint pen.
    She had them in hand, and was ready to go down into the warmer section of the barn-house, when she heard noise below and guessed that Mrs. Dale and her Cub Scouts had arrived. They sounded as if they were all talking at once—about a hundred of them, or at least ten. Holly sat down on her bed. She did not want to go down, to meet all those strangers. Junkyard—what would they think of the Wades living in a junkyard, even helping to collect dirty old rubbish as they had this morning? This was a junkyard and they lived in an old barn full of junk—and—and—
    She threw herself face down on the bed and bit hard at the quilt where it covered her pillow. No, she was not going to cry! But Mom! Now she did not want to write to Mom, she wanted to see her right here in this room—Mom coming to say it was all a mistake, they were going home and all would be just what it had been before.
    â€œHolly?”
    That was Judy. She did not even want to look at her. But if she didn’t, then maybe Judy would go back and tell Grandma Holly was crying or something like that.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she demanded fiercely.
    â€œHolly, aren’t you coming down? Grandma’s giving us all doughnuts, and Mrs. Dale’s so nice. Come on, Holly—”
    She supposed she would have to go. But didn’t Judy remember Mom at all? Didn’t she want to be home again? Holly swung around on the bed.
    If Judy had cleaned herself up before lunch, she was not very clean now. There was dust and something which looked like oil on the front of her shirt. One of her braids had come loose and flopped over her eyes. As she pushed the hair back impatiently, she left a very dark streak on her brown