The floor was
littered with fragments of broken dishes, for it seemed that the fatal
tragedy had taken place on the long dresser where Susan's array of
cooking bowls had been marshalled in shining state. Around the kitchen
tore a frantic cat, with his head wedged tightly in an old salmon can.
Blindly he careered about with shrieks and profanity commingled, now
banging the can madly against anything he encountered, now trying vainly
to wrench it off with his paws.
The sight was so funny that Rilla doubled up with laughter. Susan looked
at her reproachfully.
"I see nothing to laugh at. That beast has broken your ma's big blue
mixing-bowl that she brought from Green Gables when she was married.
That is no small calamity, in my opinion. But the thing to consider now
is how to get that can off Hyde's head."
"Don't you dast go touching it," exclaimed Cousin Sophia, galvanized
into animation. "It might be your death. Shut the kitchen up and send
for Albert."
"I am not in the habit of sending for Albert during family
difficulties," said Susan loftily. "That beast is in torment, and
whatever my opinion of him may be, I cannot endure to see him suffering
pain. You keep away, Rilla, for little Kitchener's sake, and I will see
what I can do."
Susan stalked undauntedly into the kitchen, seized an old storm coat of
the doctor's and after a wild pursuit and several fruitless dashes and
pounces, managed to throw it over the cat and can.
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