Chapter XXV: Eventide 261 (7)

And in truth this childish friendship had worked wonders in Hope. She was able to walk about the garden with her crutches and his help, for he was very careful of her, and proud to be of use in amusing her. Aunt Martha took the bright, honest boy into her heart, and he loved her dearly.

One day when Jack came over the hedge he found Hope in great excitement. Her apron covered some mystery that was very soon revealed--a coal-black cat, perfect in every way, a real witch cat, with not one mark about her from the tip of her ear to the end of her tail. Yellow eyes of the most unfathomable depth and a spasmodic wag of the tail proved her temper to be of the peppery kind.

"Where did you get her?" asked Jack.

"She came to us. When Aunt Martha opened the door this morning to take in the paper, she walked in. She came into the dining room, and when I called her, she jumped up in my lap and drank milk from a saucer. She bites and claws the rest if they touch her, but licks my hands and purrs when I talk to her. Where she came from I do not know, but I love her already almost" (with a remorseful look at Joanna) "as well as I do my dear dolly."

"I should think so," replied Jack. "I can't see how you can care so much for that old doll."

"Oh, don't, Jack! She is a dear, lovely, good old girlie" (with a hug and a kiss on Joanna's old battered face).

This Jett resented. Flying at Joanna, she stuck her sharp claws in her blond hair, dragging out a big tuft of it.

Jack shouted, "Go it! go ahead! tear her old wig off!"

Hope relieved and comforted her dear dolly, pushing the black termagant from her lap, and saying to Jack: "You are a cruel boy. I will have nothing to do with you."

This Jack could not bear, for he was a tender-hearted little fellow.

"Oh, come now," he said, "don't be so hard on a fellow. I never knew anything about dolls. I daresay Joanna is very nice. See here, perhaps I can mend her head." And he did very skilfully, and thus restored peace.

Then came the question of naming the cat.

"How would Nig do?" said Hope.

"Oh, don't! _She_ had a dog called Nig, and it died. I was glad of it."

"Oh, no; if _she_ had anything named Nig I will not have Kitty called so." Hope was firm in her belief in Jack's wrongs, and disliked his step-mother with all her heart. "We must call her something of that kind, for she is jet-black."

"Well," said Jack, "you have just said it. Why not call her Jett?"

So Jett she was named, to their great satisfaction.

"She must be half mine, and I will bring her all the scraps I can, for cats want no end of meat. That is," he said, "if I can get anything. _She_ would like to starve me. She says I have such a rude appetite that it makes her sick."

"What a horrid woman! I don't believe your appetite is big; and if ever you are hungry, just let me know, and my Aunt Martha will give you all you can eat, for she loves to see me relish anything." And it was quite noticeable how often little nice things were brought out for Jack, quite accidentally, to save his pride.

"Oh, never mind," he said; "only it's a bothering shame father is so generous he never can see what is going on. We never had such meanness and scrimping before. There was always enough and to spare. Now there is not enough to feed a cat on. And a dog she will not let me have. She says that they are gluttons."

But I must curtail my story; it is getting too long.

Jack had a parrot called Bimbo. As it was a gift from his rich uncle, he was allowed to keep it.

With Joanna, Jett, and Bimbo the children were very happy. Bimbo was very happy on the bough of the old apple tree. He was deeply interested in Hope, and eyed her in a most sympathizing manner.

The first time he saw her use her crutches he gave vent to a succession of groans, and moved first one foot and then the other as if in pain, and after that he would move to a branch over her couch, and look down upon her in the most affectionate manner. Often he would astonish them by some remark drawn from the storehouse of memory.

No wonder Jett was jealous of him. When she first heard him speak, she opened wide her eyes, and stared at him in astonishment. The children shouted with laughter, and Bimbo kept up a silly cackle, encouraged by their approval. This was very provoking to Jett, as cats do not like to be laughed at, and she resented it in Bimbo.

After she had given him a scratch that he remembered he looked at her with fear and trembling. He soon learned to say "Jett." Though he said it in a soft, hesitating manner, she was deeply offended. She would give him a look that would keep him silent for hours.

She never could understand why such an uncouth-looking bird should have the power of speech given to him, while a handsome, intelligent cat could not speak at all; and the mystery of it made her very savage to poor Bimbo.

Of course the children shared their confidences with their pets, and if Mrs. Thornton had fallen into the clutches of Bimbo or Jett, she would probably have borne marks of the encounter. Joanna's wrath was suppressed; sometimes, however, silent wrath is the deepest.

One day they were in earnest conversation, Jack relating his wrongs; while Bimbo, seated on his bough, listened in silence. Suddenly, to their surprise, he said in a subdued voice: "She's an old devil! so she is! how droll! Ha! ha! ha!" ending with, "Well, I never!"

The children were convulsed with laughter. Even Aunt Martha could not resist the ludicrous situation. Bimbo, in great delight, gave a succession of "ha-ha's," ending with "Oh, she's a devil!" Aunt Martha covered him with her apron, and silence at once ensued; for he knew that was a mark of disgrace.

"Oh, Aunt Martha," said Jack, in a whisper, "don't you think it strange that Bimbo knows all about her?"

"Nonsense!" she replied. "Did you ever hear Bimbo swear before?"

"Never. He used, when I first had him, to say a few bad words, but covering him up made him know he must not repeat them; but to-day he has applied them where they are true. Whenever she is around, he swears all the time, and I keep him out of her way, for he knows her. She says I taught him. It is false. Uncle Jack bought him of some sailors. They gave him a good character, and Uncle Jack said if he ever used bad words, it would teach me a lesson never to say anything I did not want him to repeat."

"Very wise of your uncle. You must do as he has advised, and you will soon teach him better."

Just here, Jett, who had been a silent witness of the scene, could bear it no longer. She flew up the tree and out on the bough where Bimbo sat in disgrace, and drawing off the apron with sheathed claws, she boxed him right and left.

Poor Bimbo retreated to the very edge of the bough, screaming "Jett, Jett! oh, oh, Jett!" This offended her so much that Jack had to pull her down by her tail, to save Bimbo's life.

She was of course very much disgusted at such unusual treatment, and went off in the sulks. After a time peace was restored, and Bimbo was happy, for they were all very kind and sympathizing, and Hope smoothed his feathers where Jett had attacked him, and Jack told him he was forgiven provided he never swore again.

Aunt Martha told the children a nice, interesting story, while Jack held Bimbo on his arm, and Hope cuddled Joanna in her lap.

This home picture was interrupted by Bridget, the cook. She came, full of wrath, to enter her complaint of Jett, who followed in the distance as bold as a lion. Bridget said she put some squash pies she had made to cool for dinner, and she found Jett sitting in the middle of one while she was eating from the other, her paws and tail going as fast as her tongue.

Jack shrieked with laughter when he saw her glossy black fur covered with squash. Her nose and whiskers were dotted with it, and even her ears had little yellow decorations.

As soon as Aunt Martha could command her voice, she consoled Bridget by telling her she would make a dessert in place of the pies. Then she told Jett she had better go and get into the waste barrel. And a sight she was--a picture in yellow and black.

She went away, ashamed,--not, however, without casting a look of fury at Bimbo, who was whispering with a smothered chuckle, "Oh, she's a dear! she's a dear! Oh, oh, Jett! I shall die!"

Jett preferred a crooked path. Stealing was her delight, for boldly, in the face of all, she would bring home a chicken she had stolen. No one molested her, for Aunt Martha paid for the chicken, and as Hope said, perhaps Jett thought it was like having a bill at a store. She had a running account at the neighbor's hen-coops, knowing the bill would be paid.

The children called her a "grave robber." For once one of the neighbors lost a little bird. Their little boy was very fond of it, and was allowed to bury it in the garden. He folded it up in his little pocket-handkerchief, and put it into the hole he had dug, and covered the earth over it. He put up a little wooden paper-knife over the grave, making a nice tombstone, and the design was very appropriate. The top of the knife was carved with a bush, and a bird was sitting on the branches. The point of the knife was down deep in the earth, and he thought everything secure.

Now Jett knew everything going on in the neighborhood. The bird's empty cage had been cleaned, and was standing on a bench outside the kitchen door. Jett had interviewed the cage and tried to get in, but finding the door too small, she had seated herself to think it out, wondering in her mind where the bird had gone. When she heard footsteps, she mounted to her post of observation on the fence; and when she saw the boy bring out the bird and bury it, she was perplexed.

A cat never allows a mystery to go unsolved. After it was all over she waited a suitable time, and then she made an investigation. She walked around the monument, she smelt of it, and she clawed it a little. By the time she had satisfied her curiosity it looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. That it moved was probably a suggestion to her, for she began scratching the earth; and it soon fell over, leaving a bit of the grave clothing of the poor little bird exposed. This at once was proof positive, and after scratching away the earth she found the mystery.

Jerking up the handkerchief, she soon landed the little corpse, and then she examined it with a critical eye. No coroner inquiring into the cause of a sudden death could have been more careful. After she had inspected it thoroughly she took one claw in her mouth and started for the house, and never rested till she had with great difficulty deposited that bird in its cage and pushed to the door. Then she went home, satisfied that she had done an act of justice and humanity.

It is needless to say how surprised the family were to find the dead returned to them, and they suspected a mischievous boy who lived near; but when Jett dug up that bird for the second time, there were witnesses, and the deed was brought home to her.

The last burial took place while Jett was shut up. They dared not put up the monument, for they knew she would discover the grave by that. She hunted for a week, but she never found that bird again.

All the neighbors looked upon her as a mysterious element that had come into their midst. They believed in the witches having unlimited power over black cats, and never dared interfere with her; indeed, her good will they were very glad to gain.

Jett was devoted to Hope. She never killed a rat without bringing it with a purr of satisfaction, and was not satisfied till her little mistress had noticed her, and said, "What a good kitty to catch the naughty rats."

There was one place the children called the "cats' paradise." It was down in the corner of Jack's garden. Here catmint grew in rank profusion. The place was neglected, but nature had rioted there, and it was all abloom with wild flowers and weeds.

Here Jett held her afternoon teas and musicales, and she would frolic with her friends in the sweet-smelling grass. Her high soprano would mingle with the contralto and other nondescript parts till they produced a "passion music" so terrible in its results that it required all Jack's strength to separate them.

Why these musicales always ended in a free fight, Hope wondered. Jack suggested that the catmint intoxicated them, for they were usually captured with their mouths and paws full of it, and as much on their fur coats as they could hold. But this state of happiness was not quite as satisfactory to others as it was to the cats and the children.

Jack announced one day that _she_ had been disturbed by the musicales, and the catmint period was drawing to an end. Jack said:--

"She won't outwit me. Aunt Martha will let me plant some over behind your large barn, in that field, and we will dry all we can. Jett shall have her winter supply, and I will treat every cat in the neighborhood."

Jack worked with a will, and before the man Mrs. Thornton had hired to remove and destroy the catmint bed had arrived, it was nearly all transplanted or cut off to dry. They did enjoy that work.

Hope was seated in a wheel chair her father had bought for her, and Jack delighted in wheeling. She superintended all the work.

Aunt Martha allowed the man of all work to plant all that Jack brought him, though she did not think it best for him to take the catmint from Jack's garden.

Jett and Bimbo were very much interested. Bimbo eyed them in solemn silence for a while, then he yelled, "Go ahead! Hurry up! hurry up! She'll get you!" till it did seem as if that clever bird knew everything.

Jett's help was rather doubtful, though her interest was not. She followed Jack back and forth, and at every fresh root he would take up she would turn a somersault in the hole, scratching the earth with all her might; then she would rush back--a picture of yellow earth, black fur, and catmint.

These were happy days, too soon followed by sorrowful ones. As summer waned, and autumn advanced, the first frost cast a blight on the little life so fondly cared for by her friends.

Jack's sorrow, when he was made to realize her danger, was pathetic. He was now constantly with his little playfellow when she was able to see him. It was a picture to see her propped up in bed, Jack sitting by the side, in a little rocker, Joanna in her arms, or if too feeble to hold her, lying by her side, while Jett was curled up at her feet.

Poor, sorrowful Aunt Martha hovered around her darling, ready to attend to her slightest wish. Jett was devoted to her. In this case can be seen what devoted creatures cats and dogs can be if they are made friends of. They seem to realize the approach of that dread messenger, and to be "faithful unto death."

Jett only left the sick child long enough to take a constitutional and her meals. Then she would go back and mew piteously, if the door was closed, to get in to her little mistress. If Hope was asleep, she would jump up on the bed, stand and look at her a little while, perhaps lick her hands, and then lie down where she could watch every movement. If Joanna had fallen on the floor, she would pick her up with her teeth, give her a real shake, as if to say, "What did you fall down for?" and then, jumping up on the bed, deposit her in Hope's arms or by her side.

Never was there a case of greater devotion. She was always pleased to see Jack. She would lick his face and sit in his arms, but on the least movement of her little mistress back she would go and watch her with the deepest affection.

The end came very suddenly. Just at the close of a lovely October day sweet little Hope Farley fell asleep. She had seemed to know that the end was near. She had spoken of her death to her Aunt Martha, saying, "I am so tired, but I do not want to leave you and my dear ones."

She had made her auntie promise that Joanna should be dressed just as they dressed her, and be buried in her arms, saying, "I shall not be so lonesome with my dear dolly, and I know Jack and Jett will come and see me often."

So Joanna had a white cambric embroidered dress just like her little mistress's, that Aunt Martha made (with tears falling on her work), and she was laid in her little mistress's arms. Aunt Martha covered her with flowers, and sheltered her under the sleeve of her little mistress's dress as well as she could, knowing how much would be said about her indulging such a queer fancy of the dear child. As Jack said to her, "I do feel glad Joanna is with her. It seems so hard to put her away alone;" and Aunt Martha agreed with him.

They had the greatest trouble with Jett, to keep her out of the room. Every time the door was open she would hide under the bed. She had taken Joanna twice out to the seat in the garden, where she had so often seen her in Hope's arms, and Aunt Martha had to shut her out doors while she dressed Joanna.

Hope looked lovely, with beautiful flowers around her, and leaves from the plants she had loved. Her father was dazed at her loss, but Aunt Martha and Jack were the real mourners.

How it happened they never knew. They had kept track of Jett all they could, and Jack had petted her, and tried to comfort her, but all to no purpose. She was like a wild cat, crouching down in corners and watching them all. The last night before the funeral Hope was placed in the casket, and it was closed. Jett must have crawled into a corner under the sofa when the door was open, for she was found in the morning, sitting on the head of the casket, as solemn as if she knew she had been watching her dear little mistress.

She was not willing to go to any one, and disappeared till just as the funeral left the house, when she was seen on the opposite side of the street. When they reached the old cemetery, she was noticed behind some shrubs.

Jack got out of the carriage to see if it was Jett, and take her home, but could not find her. They thought it could not be she; but when days passed away and she did not return, they were sure it was Jett who had followed to her little mistress's grave. They sought her everywhere, leaving the outbuildings open, so in case she returned she could get in; but they never found any trace of her again.

There were stories, that they did not give credence to, of a cat's being seen hovering around the grave; but many people did believe that it was Jett guarding the grave of her dear one.

Superstitious people said that she was a ministering spirit sent to guard and comfort the life of that dear little child. That her mission being fulfilled, she went back to those who sent her, perhaps to be still with the dear child in Paradise. Others said she was a witch cat, spared for a little while, to be happy in this beautiful home; but her mission being over, the witches called her back. That perhaps at night she was allowed to visit the grave of the one she had served so devotedly.

But my opinion is, she was just a good, loving cat. She was grateful for all their kindness, and loved little Hope just as all cats love those who are kind to them. She had not been born in that home, as one would know by the strange way she often behaved that she had no training.

Of course her disappearance is hard to account for; but I do believe she could not bear to live in that home after Hope had left it, and she found another one for herself. Of course a cat has a right to an opinion. This is mine.

But does it not show how kind, loving, and faithful cats can be? If properly trained, they make the best companions for children.

Who that ever has seen dear little kittens, so loving and trusting, climbing in the arms of those who are kind to them, can doubt they are given to them for friends?

XXII

WATCH AND CHLOE

Much has been said of the benefit of example. Why, then, when a cat follows the example of the people with whom she lives, should she be called "bloodthirsty" if she kills a chicken? She follows her master to the hen-coop, and looks on in wonder when he wrings the neck of one of the chickens he has fed daily. Then when she takes her own method of killing a chicken for her own eating, where is the harm? She could be taught better, of course.

Dogs are taught not to touch game, even when it falls at their feet, till their master gives them permission. Cats would never steal if they knew it was wrong.

Look at my case. After the theft of that meat from the good "philanthropist," I never took anything else. My mistress made me understand wherein it was wrong. I felt very much ashamed, though I could not be blamed. It was one of the most delicious morsels I ever had.

If a cat is not well fed, she will help herself, just as, under the same circumstances, human beings would do the same. It is astonishing how many peculiar traits are brought out when one studies animals.

I heard a story of a cat called Tinker, who lived with a very nice family. They were country people, with a large farm, with horses, cows, dog, and cat, all well cared for, and favorite companions of the children. Nothing was ever killed on that place except rats.

Tinker was a ferocious mouser. She was, however, very fond of all the animals, and the horses would put their heads down to her when she rubbed against their legs. Even the cow did not resent it when she would lick her after she had been milked. They did say that Tinker had been known to help herself to a little, sometimes, before the good Brindle had been milked.

They had hens and chickens in plenty. But they never killed one of their own, always buying their poultry of the farmers around. They were content with selling the eggs in great quantities, for the hens were so well kept that they laid a great many.

Tinker was well fed; and as she had never seen hens and chickens killed, she treated them as if their right to live could not be questioned. She walked out and in the hen-coop whenever she pleased. She had very nice ways, and was never known to go near the pig-pen, that being, in her opinion, not exactly a pleasure ground.

One day the hens were all out in the large field back of the house, when Tinker was walking about on a voyage of discovery. She soon espied three little chickens of a very tender age shivering with cold and sending forth feeble little peeps. She looked around; then mounting on the nest, she sat over them, and they nestled in her warm fur.

Soon a great clacking announced the return of their mother. She was telling all the gossip of the farm to the other hens. She was just as surprised as she could be to see her place filled. She flew at Tinker in great wrath. Tinker just raised her paw and kept her back and sat there as long as she pleased. The mother hen ran about, telling her story to all the coop assembled to see the fun. Even the lordly rooster cocked his comb about, in wise deliberation, over this most unusual occurrence.

The unusual noise drew out the master, who was so well pleased that he called his wife to see Tinker in her position as chicken nurse.

As soon as she saw she was appreciated, Tinker left her post, and there is no doubt the chickens wished their mother had fur on her rather than stiff feathers.

Does not this prove that a cat would be kind to all creatures, were the example before her such as she could follow? Animals learn to kill by seeing man kill everything he is allowed to without drawing upon himself the penalty of the law.

It has often been said that women care more for pets, particularly cats, than men do. I do not think it is true. Men do not make such open demonstrations and decorate their pets in the absurd way that women do, but where they do love them, it is a very lasting affection.

If you follow the course of children who are cruel to animals, you will find they meet with their punishment oftentimes in this world. I have a story to tell in illustration of this fact.

A very charming family lived not very far from Boston, though their home was in quite a country place. The family was composed of a widow with four sons and an only daughter. The eldest son was really the flower of the family. The boys were all full of life, but very unlike their elder brother. Robert was a gentleman and a scholar. Mary, the sister, was his special friend, and he made of her a real chum, telling her all his plans and in every way making a friend of her.

They lived in a grand old house. It had been built by their ancestors some two hundred years. The land about was very beautiful, and they lived in comfortable style, though not really wealthy. They loved the old family horse, and the cow would follow every member of the family. They had a good, big dog; and last but not least a great, dignified cat called Bruno.

The cat was the special pet of Robert and Mary. The younger boys teased him, and he kept out of their way. He well knew how to defend himself, and they were rather afraid of him.

There were no near neighbors. The grounds of their nearest companions met theirs, but nearly half a mile away. As they were not congenial, the distance was rather satisfactory.

Bruno would not notice the poor, wretched, hunted-looking cat belonging to the other place, and she was afraid of every moving thing. The people were very mean, though they kept up a great show of wealth; the servants and the animals about the place were half starved.

Poor Mossy had no one to love her. She had never been petted, and her life was made still more wretched by the loss of her many kittens. At last she disappeared. Then they realized her value, for she was a great mouser, and the place was infested with rats and mice. Knowing their enemy had gone, they returned in full force, and the people tried in every way to find Mossy, but in vain.

After a time the chickens on our friend Robert's place disappeared. They could find no trace of the robber, though they watched very carefully.

Max would bark nights, and Bruno, the cat, seemed to be very uneasy at the same time, as if he heard some intruder. One of the boys would stay out at night till quite late, but the hen-coop was peaceful; and though they tried every means, they never caught the intruder. And the chickens disappeared, all the same.

At last the boys discovered a hole in the back of the hen-coop, where the earth had been dug down and room made large enough for a cat to enter. The boys declared they had seen a cat that looked like Mossy come out of the pine woods at the back of the hen-coop, and they believed she had stolen the chickens.

Robert said, "If it is Mossy, do not harm her, but coax her here and feed her."

Robert had always petted her when he could get the chance, but she seemed to shrink from and distrust every one.

The boys were not of the same mind. They had no love for Mossy, and believed in punishing the one who had stolen the chickens. So they baited a trap with poisoned meat, just outside of the hole, and poor Mossy was caught. She was quite dead; but, not satisfied, they battered her head with stones.

Robert's wrath was terrible when he learned of poor Mossy's fate. He not only cuffed them right and left, but he told them they had forfeited the right to the pleasure trips and fun he had promised them. Robert had a scientific turn of mind, and his experiments were a great wonder and pleasure to the boys, and the loss of his favor was a severe punishment.

The next day, when they went out, they said, "We will take the body of Mossy into the woods and bury it, and perhaps we shall find out where she made her home."

They had laid down the body of Mossy on the grass while they went to dig a grave for her, when a mewing, shrill but feeble, greeted their ears. They looked back, and a most pathetic sight greeted them: the dead body of poor Mossy was completely covered by five little kittens. They were half starved, and were trying to nurse their dead mother. "Oh, ho!" said the boys, "this is what she was up to! She wanted to raise a family all by herself."

The three boys each took a kitten, and, whirling it around, dashed its little life out against a tree, saying, "We will send her orphans after the chicken stealer."

Robert and Mary had followed them, wanting to see that they buried Mossy as they ought to. They arrived on the scene just at the moment when the poor little kittens were killed. Robert rushed forward and with one blow felled one cruel wretch to the ground, while the others fled.

Poor Mary almost fainted at the dreadful sight; but Robert put the two little kittens (that he took from their mother's dead body) into her arms, and as she wrapped them in her shawl, they cuddled up to her so confidingly that it comforted her, for she said, "They shall never know sorrow."

Robert was moved almost to tears. As soon as he could command his voice he said: "God will punish this act of cruelty, this crime. They are my brothers, but I would not lift up my hand to save them from prison."

He then made a grave, and Mary helped as well as she could (with the little kittens in her arms) to put in leaves, and Robert spread out his handkerchief and tenderly laid in poor Mossy and her three kittens. It was a solemn sight. Mary covered them with her handkerchief and a few more leaves, and then Robert filled in the grave.

They carried home the two little orphans in silence. The poor things were very hungry, and Mary fed them and put them into a basket with soft white wool, and as soon as they opened their eyes she was ready with milk and petting, that they might not feel their mother's loss.

Robert was very fond of them. As soon as they could run about he took them up to his den, where all his time was spent in study, and they were perfectly at home. They would dart about, over books, papers, and table, and there was so much electricity about them that Robert named them Castor and Pollux, for he said they were like a flash of lightning in their movements. Of course they were called Cassy and Polly. They were the exclusive property of Robert and Mary, and the boys never dared touch them.

The mother, a confirmed invalid, was never told of the boys' wickedness; for her sister, who had the care of her, with the help of Mary, kept everything of a disturbing nature from her.

Strange as it may appear, their instinct taught the kittens to shun their mother's murderers. They would never go near them; and another very strange thing--they would never, even when hungry, touch a bit of chicken. They never went near the hen-coop, and would run and hide when the hens and chickens were around.

Is there not some psychological explanation of this fact? Did not the spirit of the mother in some mysterious way influence her children?

It was supposed that Mossy, after losing her kittens so often, decided she would take the matter into her own hands and save those she was expecting. She went away, when near the time of their birth, and hid herself in a cave in the rocks, for it was found some time after that she had made a deep cave, digging it out patiently till it was large enough for comfort. Chicken feathers were found spread all around, proving she had thought about the comfort of her children and herself, and provided them a good home. She stole chickens from the neighboring coops, and feasted herself and used their feathers. She certainly displayed human intelligence in her work.

Castor and Pollux grew up to be very fine cats. They were very smart mousers, like their mother, and they were devoted to Robert and Mary. Bruno was quite jealous of them at first; but after a time, finding his importance was not lessened, he gave in, and treated them with politeness. When, one day, Cassy brought a mouse he had killed, and laid it in his arms when he was asleep, he adopted Cassy at once. It was a real picture to see that big, dignified cat with the plump little kittens playing around him. They had no respect or veneration in their intercourse with him. They just loved him as they did everything around them.

Mary would take them in to see her mother sometimes when she had a few hours' relief from pain. The mother would say: "What will you do, Mary, if Robert or you should marry? You cannot both have the kittens, and you surely cannot separate them."

"Oh," she answered, "I shall never marry, and Rob may get a wife who will not love cats, and I shall have them all my own."

When she repeated this to Robert, he said: "I shall never have a home where Castor and Pollux are not welcome. It will be the test I shall apply to the woman, if I ever find one, whom I propose to make my wife, whether she loves cats and is kind to dumb animals."

"You had better not announce the fact; for there are hundreds who would tolerate even a gorilla and pretend to be fond of it for the sake of being the wife of my elegant brother Robert."

He laughed, saying, "Perhaps, in that case, as there are sixty thousand single women to be provided for, it would be better not to advertise."

He was truly in earnest, as was soon proved. The young friend of his sister that he had been very much pleased with, and had paid more attention to than to any other he had met, came to visit Mary soon after this conversation had taken place. She was very pretty and charming, trying to please Robert in every way. Finding he was fond of cats, and hearing with sympathy the story of Mossy, she was very affectionate to Cassy and Polly; but they did not reciprocate, and kept away from her when it was possible.

One day Cassy sat upon her beautiful new hat and crushed the flowers. She flew at him in a great rage, saying: "You horrid old cat! I would not have you around in a house of mine."

She slashed him over with her bag, while he slunk under the sofa in fear and trembling. It was the first abuse he had ever known.

She thought she was alone, and soon left the room with her precious hat. But she had forever ruined her chance of being Robert's wife; for as soon as she left the room he moved the Turkish screen that formed a protection for the window seat where he was lounging with a book, and stooping down he took poor Cassy from under the sofa and carried him up to his den, where he remained with his two pets. They were the only witnesses of the death of his fancy for his sister's friend. When she called Cassy and Polly to her, he well understood why Cassy crept under the table out of her sight.

He became a very successful scientific man, but the brothers met with retribution for their cruel crime. Two of them were victims of a railroad accident, while the third died from blood-poisoning from the bite of a rat he had caught in a trap. Justice was dealt out to them in full.

If young people would test each other's natures by their treatment of animals, there would not be so many deceived and repentant married people.

Castor and Pollux lived to be twenty years old. They seemed to bear a charmed life. They were very fond of each other, but often they would have a pitched battle and retire to separate corners for a while, but it never lasted long. They were soon as good friends as ever.

The lady Robert married was very fond of cats. When she was married, she could not be separated from her pet dog Fido; but she was mistress and soon made them understand they must be friends.

She never allowed either the dog or the two cats to be unjust to each other. It took time and patience, but she persevered, and was successful at last. By judicious treatment she made them the best of friends. It was a very funny sight when Fido would carry some of his candy and put it on Cassy's and Polly's paws, and then bark with delight at his own generosity.

And when her little girl, named Mary, after Robert's sister Mary, who had died just before his marriage, was born, the two cats and the dog were her earliest friends, and they often fought for her favor, each seeming to believe her to be his own special property; but she kissed and cuffed alike, so they were a very happy family.

Cassy and Polly were always to be found in their master's study when he was engaged in absorbing work. They would quietly pore over maps and charts, as full of interest as they would have been had he been their teacher. Their master said he had solved many hard questions while smoothing their soft fur and meeting their intelligent glances. And he could not help saying, "What do you think of it, my friends?"

I think a man like the master of Castor and Pollux a true and grand gentleman. How many might be happy if, like him; they would care for their humble friends. There is no doubt that a cat oftentimes helps out some problem.

My mistress would sometimes take me in her arms and look into my eyes. I could feel that look right into my heart, and I know that I answered it, for she would say, "Oh, Daisy, you have given me an idea." And I would advise my friends, both young men and women, when you have some difficult problem or study, take your faithful friend, the cat, look deep into her eyes while you tell her your perplexity, and see if she does not help you solve the difficulty. There is an electric current that passes into your brain from hers, and clears away the mists from your understanding. Then your kindness to your dumb friend is rewarded by the success you deserve.

There is another story I like very much. It is about a cat and a dog, and they lived in Beverly, in a very beautiful place quite near the shore.

The dog's name was Watch, and the cat was named Chloe. Watch was not a handsome dog, but he was a faithful, good little fellow. He had very short legs (my mistress said, just like a cricket). He was a dark yellow, or what now is called a dull old gold. He had a very broad back, where Chloe could sit comfortably whenever she pleased.

Watch was very humble, and believed in "woman's rights" evidently, for he never offered any resistance when Chloe saw fit to use him for an easy-chair. He would crouch down on his short legs, and solace himself with a good sleep--that was his panacea for every ill. But he never allowed his master, whom he worshipped, to take one step without rising and standing in respectful silence or following him at a distance. This was very exasperating to Chloe, for he would shake her off with scant ceremony to do honor to his master.

But Chloe had no reverence or respect for anything but a good dinner. Many were the cuffs she gave poor Watch, which he bore meekly, because he would rise when his master appeared and disturb her sleep.

He was really a refrigerator color. His fur was short and stiff, his ears were large and prominent, drooping, unless something unusual aroused him. Then his interest only lasted for a moment. He would relapse into the stolid, silent dog they all believed him to be. He identified himself with the family, though he did not join in their sports; but he always knew just what was going on, and would follow them at a distance wherever they would go.

His master was his idol. He seemed to live for him alone. His bright, beadlike black eyes were always fixed on his master's face, and he knew every change of expression. His master would say, "Watch is the only one of my children with black eyes; he takes after me." Years after Watch died there were two little black-eyed girls born, but Watch could not enjoy the sight of them.

Chloe was a calico cat, yellow, with patches of dark and white spots. She was not much prettier than Watch, but the children thought her beautiful and loved her dearly.

Their father had made them a wooden doll, and they were as pleased with it as children of to-day are with the elegant creatures who can open and shut their eyes and squeak out "mamma" and "papa." The children had been brought up to enjoy and believe Bible stories, and they thought the highest honor they could give that doll was to call it by a Bible name. So, after a discussion, they named it Amminadab, for the very reason that it was very hard to pronounce and impossible to understand.

Chloe and Watch were very good friends. To be sure, Watch never dared say his soul was his own in Chloe's presence. Possibly that was the reason they had peace.

Chloe had a very roving disposition. Day after day she would go off into the woods near by, and then Watch would suffer great anxiety. He would go out into the road, and look up and down, and then indulge in a mild bark. He never would go to sleep till she returned, and would meet her with the greatest satisfaction, wagging his short tail and walking around her as if to say, "You _have_ come back, haven't you?" He delighted to see her run up trees, and would look up at her, and bark with pride, never at all jealous of her superiority.

When the children went down to bathe, Watch would attend them as body-guard. They always carried their doll and gave her to Watch to take care of. They would place her on a high rock, while Watch would sit down beside her, with his paws on her dress, to keep her from falling off. They would say, "Watch, take good care of her," and then they were sure he would never leave her. Chloe did not often go with them, for cats do not like the water as dogs do; but she knew where they were and was very impatient for them to return.

One day when their mother said, "Chloe, where are the children?" she ran down toward the water and back again several times.

Their mother laughed, saying, "Go and bring them home." And sure enough, the children were amused to see Chloe on the rock by Watch's side. She took hold of Amminadab by her dress, and tried to pull her away from Watch. But here she was mistaken in thinking he would give her up. He held his ground. He had been told to guard that doll, and guard her he would. Chloe tugged at her dress, tearing it with her teeth, but he held on. Then she fell upon him, and cuffed and clawed him, while he tried to dodge her all he could; but at one hard blow, in defending himself, he loosened his hold a bit on Amminadab, and Chloe, with one good pull, gained the victory and ran home, dragging the poor doll over the ground, bumping her poor wooden head without mercy. This was too much for Watch. He ran in pursuit, but his short legs were no match for her long ones, and she reached home, dropping Amminadab on the threshold long before he arrived.

Then ensued a fight to carry her back, and the master, who always took the part of Watch, had to separate them. He took the bone of contention into the house, and that settled it.

They were sincere friends, however, and later on, when poor Watch was unfortunate, the good heart under Chloe's rough exterior was shown. Watch lost his hearing and then his eyesight, and it was then Chloe came to his aid. She helped him and seemed always to have the care of him on her mind. She hovered around him when carriages drove by, and he, not seeing or hearing them, would sit in their track. She would drag him away by the ear or push him away and share his danger. And he soon followed her slightest touch.

She would often put his food under his nose, for he at last lost even his sense of smell. The sense of feeling he never lost, and would put out his paw, and his poor old heart would beat while he would give forth a cracked and feeble bark when his master touched him--loyal and faithful unto death!

His master could not bear the thought of parting with him, though he knew it must be, for he was in danger of being killed all the time, and, having lost all his senses, he at last refused food, and they were obliged to "put him to rest." Chloe was inconsolable. She wandered about everywhere, searching for him.

One day they saw her lying down on some shining object. They found it was an old collar belonging to Watch that she had found in the attic. She fought when they took it away from her; and when they returned it, she carried it out to the barn and put it in the corner where Watch used to lie.

There were warm sunny places he had selected to rest himself in when he grew tired and sick, and Chloe went to every one of his old haunts and made her bed. She attached herself to the master just as Watch had done, and seemed overjoyed if he noticed her. Very soon the sympathy between them in their mutual loss made them real friends. He would talk to her about Watch, and she seemed to understand all he said. It was a real comfort to him.

It is often said that a dog is more companionable than a cat, and has higher intelligence. That is not true. Cats fully understand everything that a dog does; but a dog is trained, and no one but a real cat lover would ever think of training a cat.

Chloe never regained her bright spirits after the death of Watch. She did not wander off into the woods so often, attaching herself more to the children and her home. She followed the children like a shadow. She could play hide-and-seek in and out the pine trees, jumping out on them in real earnest, and was always the first one to find the hiding place.

On the place was a real old-fashioned well. Chloe was very fond of that well, and the bucket was a real friend. Warm days she would lap the drops of water from its sides, for it was like ice water.

One day a kitten belonging to a neighbor mounted on the side of the well and looked down with wonder into the boundless depth. It was a perilous seat. Chloe, not pleased at the kitten's rashness, ran around the well and in every way tried to call her down from her perch; but she was an obstinate little creature and took no notice of Chloe's evident distress. Finding moral suasion of no avail, quick as a flash she flew up, and, taking her by the nape of the neck, deposited her in safety on the grass, where they had a good romp together; and she never allowed that kitten to go near the well again without her company.

The master would say, "We need not fear for the children; Chloe will never let them approach the well without her company."

It was very funny, one day when the children, returning from a long tramp in the woods, discovered they had left Amminadab behind. There were lamentations loud and long; they were sure they would never again see their dear dolly. Their father asked them if Chloe was with them. Yes, they said, but they did not notice her coming home. Their father walked out into the road, looking in the direction the children had taken. Soon he espied a small cloud of dust and, as it came nearer, a small yellow object, dragging in its mouth something that retarded its progress very much. Soon poor Chloe arrived and laid Amminadab at the feet of her master. She had walked all the way from the pine woods, dragging that heavy wooden doll by the dress, which bore marks of her teeth, having to shut them tight to bear the strain of that weight. She had to take frequent rests, and Amminadab's head was covered with scratches from the stones she had bumped; but she was all there, and when Chloe laid her on the doorstep, she sat down panting and tired, but with the satisfaction of having done her duty just as Watch would have done.

She was petted and praised. Her master brought her out a nice supper of fried fish, and she was perfectly happy. After she had acknowledged all their thanks, she washed her face (cats never pick their teeth in company) and laid herself down on a rug where Watch had enjoyed lying, and slept "the sleep of the just."

She was faithful to the end. To the last day of her life she would never allow Amminadab to be left out of the house without the children, but, taking her in her mouth, would carry her in to her place in the playroom. She would pick up the children's clothes. If they dropped a ribbon or a bit of paper, she would be sure to pick it up and put it on a chair or sofa.

She died peacefully, and her grave was made by the side of her friend Watch.