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Tabby Green was alone in the snowy street. The wind which blew with gusts of the finest snow had nearly taken Tabby off her feet as she crept around the corner, and she was so cold and tired that she could hardly take another step. Just as she was preparing to make a final jump for the shelter of a flight of steps, a great white dog came trotting through the snow and, to her great alarm, they ran into each other.
"I beg your pardon," said the dog, in the politest way.
"My fault, I'm sure," said Tabby Green, for she was such a well-bred kitty that no dog, even if he had the finest manners in the world, could be more courteous than she.
Then, "Why, bless me!" she exclaimed. "Can it be you, dear Bobby Gordon? How glad I am to see you once again!"
And to show how pleased she was, poor Tabby rubbed her thin sides against the good dog's legs.
Together they crouched under the arch of the high stone steps, where, from a grating in the sidewalk, came a breath of good warm air. It was close to somebody's furnace room, and only such poor wandering creatures as the hungry cat and the dog who had known better days can appreciate the air from a warm cellar.
They sat close together and Tabby tried to purr, but she was nearly dead and purr she could not.
"There, there!" soothed Bobby Gordon, as he licked the snow from poor kitty's back in the gentlest way. "I wouldn't purr. It's very kind of you to try, but it's a bad thing to do in the open air. They say it hurts the voice."
"And I have no voice left these days," admitted Tabby sadly. "Really, if it were not for these warm cellar-ways and the few stray scraps of food that one finds in such shocking places, I wouldn't be alive."
"But," said Bob, "you're just a poor tramp cat, and no one's bound to kill you. I'm a dog without a collar, all alone and afraid to be seen. I can't let any one come near for fear they'll tell the officers about me. Once I had a collar—such a beauty, too! But it came off within a week of my great misfortune. You know my master went away, and the wicked people in the house were going to get rid of me. I knew it. I wasn't wanted any more. I had to go."
Great tears stood in Bobby Gordon's eyes but he brushed them away with his paw.
Tabby was overcome. In all her wanderings she had never met a case so sad.
"Poor Mr. Gordon!" was all she could say. "My poor, hunted friend!"
Then she thought of her own fireside, the cozy home that she had known. And simply to think of the saucers of cream, and the plates of dainty pieces from her mistress' table, made Tabby Green's poor mouth water.
"Ah, me!" she sighed, and was pretty near to crying when a thought flashed to her mind. "There's one more chance!" she suddenly exclaimed. "You have a fine strong voice, and you can make folks hear. Now just below this house, where that shoemaker's sign hangs out, is a little girl, and a boy whom I know to be her brother. They stopped and spoke to me but this very day. I felt that they were kind and understood my case. But, although I followed to their door, they didn't see me. And, call out as loudly as I could, my poor voice has grown so weak I know they didn't hear me."
"It's little use," was all the weary dog could say. "I've barked at a hundred doors."
Kitty waited and yielded to his discouragement. Of course it was no use, she thought. They must simply wait and wait until the cold and hunger did its work.
The wind howled, and the snow, which was piling higher and higher on the steps, was drifting around them.
"We Scotchmen die hard," said Bob at last. "The Gordons are a brave lot. I have to remember that."
"My mother purred away her life in song," cried Tabby Green. "She was mindful of her kittens to the last. She said almost in her dying breath: 'Remember, children! Never scratch, and always dry your tails when you come in out of the rain.'"
Suddenly a voice came through the cold night air. It was a child's voice, as sweet and clear as a bell.
"Kitty! Kitty! Come, Kitty, come!"
In an instant the poor, starved cat and the lame, hungry dog looked out and leaped into the drifting snow.
A shaft of lamp-light lay wide across the street. The door at the shoemaker's house was open. There stood a woman, and, with her, two little children, all wrapped in shawls and blankets. Their little feet were tucked in bed slippers and their eager faces peered into the night.
"It's no use, your calling," said the woman. "You were only dreaming. Any cat out in this storm is a dead cat now."
"Oh, but I know I heard a kitty."
"And I heard it, too," cried the little boy.
"Yes, and you made me get you out of bed to stand here and catch your death o' cold. I hope you are satisfied."
Scarcely had she spoken, and just as she was about to close the door, Bobby Gordon and Tabby Green came bounding past her feet into the hall.
"'Twas naught but the Christmas angels brought them here!" the woman said, when they had all seated themselves in the little parlor, which was the poor shoemaker's shop and kitchen too.
The Christmas night was turning into morning. Tabby and Bobby Gordon were sleeping by the stove, and in the bedroom, tucked deep and warm under their blankets, were the two children who had called the wanderers in.
Santa Claus was near, and thousands of lovely angels, drifting like the snowflakes, whispered to him and beckoned as they flew over the housetops.
"This way, this way," they kept singing. And Santa Claus came to the shoemaker's chimney with such a pack of toys as he takes only to the sweetest, kindest children in the world. For Santa Claus and all the good, sweet spirits know the children who love to keep the kitty warm and happy, and who would never let the poor, deserted dog go friendless.
"And tell me," whispered Santa Claus to Tabby Green, "tell me every child that so much as said, 'Poor Kitty!' to you in your wanderings. I shall take them what they want the most for Christmas."
So Tabby Green, as fast as she could think, and the dog with the fine manners told all they knew of the children. And when they had finished, Santa told them that before another year was out they must have news of other good children, like the shoemaker's little boy and girl.
So there are many Tabby Greens and Bobby Gordons, forsaken and driven and chased by the cruel people of the world. But sometimes a little girl or boy stops to pet the straying animal, or even calls it home. And you may be very sure that Santa Claus hears of it.