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."