"Show him this letter, if you wish, and Willard C. will tell you where he made the grave of your dear little pet." After Dr. G. read that letter he no longer needed a clew to the loss of wife and child. Little Blossom was avenged. But at what a fearful cost! There are often advertisements seen in the daily papers and great rewards offered for lost pets,--dogs and cats. Never expect to find them. The doctors will pay more than the offered reward for nice, well-cared-for dogs and cats; and boys have no regard for those who feel the loss of their pets. It is to get the highest price. Is it not the duty of every one who can have influence to use it in behalf of the dumb creatures who appeal to their mercy? They cannot speak for themselves. XXV EVENTIDE We are still in our pleasant rooms, and life is very quiet and happy. Each day I grow less able to go about. I have no inclination to leave our nice room. It is really true I am growing old. I can hear only in one ear; but, oh my, don't I hear quickly in the other! The sense of smell has grown stronger. I think I could smell a rat one mile away. My eyesight is good. I do not believe even a Boston-born cat ever wears glasses. Their literary tendencies do not need to be advertised by glasses. But alas! there are other indications of old age. I love to lie quiet, looking in the fire, where I see pictures of the past. My appetite is good, but I am very particular about my food, and if it does not please me, I am irritable. Unless the boys or some friends I love come in, I do not feel inclined to make myself agreeable. It is a real pleasure when Will takes me on his knee, and I can stick my claws in, just as I used to, scratching gently, while he says, "Oh, Daisy, you are at your old tricks!" But it makes me sad after they have gone. I look in the fire and see the dear little boys of long ago, dressed so cunning and always so full of fun. To know that they are no longer mine! These smart young men have taken their places. Then, indeed, I feel I am an old cat and nearing the end. I have learned now the meaning of "the beginning of the end." I realize that I must finish my book at once, before I get too old to write at all. My thumb is rather stiff and rheumatic, and my "index claw" not quite as sharp a pen as it used to be, but I think I shall be able to finish my work.