He lived with his mother in a neat little house in a big garden near the city. The surrounding field was his, too. He raised flowers, cabbages, lettuce, and tomatoes, and sold them on the market.

Now he was going home very, very proud of this helpless creature that belonged to him. He would see to it that this little thing grew up into a noble dog, useful, of service to the world. Yes, indeed, that would be worth while.

His mother laughed when she caught sight of Renni. Mother Marie laughed most of the time. She had a very cheerful disposition and made George’s home life happy.

“Do you want me to raise this youngster?” she asked.

“No!” George had no intention of giving his mother extra work. He would do it all himself and take great pleasure in it, too. He began filling the bottle with warm milk. “Not too hot and not too cool,” warned his mother. “It ought to be just at body heat.”

“Yes,” agreed George, “but at puppy heat.” His face wore a comical expression of superior wisdom as he put the nipple on the bottle.

“Jealous!” said his mother.

“I am that,” admitted George, holding the food out to Renni.

Renni tried to stand, sprawled. His thick clumsy legs refused to hold his weight. Collapsed on his stomach, he drank greedily. Mother Marie brought in an old basket lined with rags and soft old cloths. “I wonder if he will sleep in here with Kitty.”

“Why, of course,” George assured her.

“He’s almost too young to know anything. He’s still almost blind. The question is how Kitty will act toward her new bedfellow.”

Kitty was Mother Marie’s young kitten. She was perhaps four weeks older than Renni. They had started calling to her, Kitty! Kitty! and since she had learned to come to this call it seemed perfectly natural to let that be her name. So they never thought of giving her another.

“How would you expect her to act?” George wanted to know. “Kitty hasn’t had any experience yet. It will be perfectly all right with her.”

Mother Marie was doubtful. “What about her inborn hate of dogs, her natural instinct?”

“I don’t believe in any such thing.” George was very positive. “That hate you speak of is just a result of human cruelty. Nothing but thoughtless human cruelty has made cats and dogs hate each other.”

“Well, we can try it,” conceded Mother Marie. She called, “Kitty! Kitty!”

George put the puppy to bed in the basket. Renni had drunk all he could hold. Now he was whimpering softly, not in pain but with a sort of yearning. He moved his head slowly as if it were too heavy to lift.

“He’s missing his mother’s warm body,” said George. “It’s just too bad.