When we left for home, Grandfather Tomkins said to Miss Milly: "You had better give that great critter to me. He would like my farm to run about in, and I have taken a liking to him." Then he added, with a sly wink at me, "He can sleep in an old wig I have at home." I trembled at the thought, and hid in the folds of Miss Milly's dress, as she said, "Daisy is just like a child to us; we could never part with him." "Well, well," he said; "I believe the critter knows all we say." I was glad enough to see the last of that place. I preferred one room and no companions but my own friends. These uncongenial people had given me a good lesson. I was more careful about running away, for when one has a fur garment to protect, suspecting every one of a desire to make wigs, front-pieces, tippets, and fur rugs of it, he has a great care. I only wish I could tell my dream to my friends, but it is a great consolation to write it. XV CAT ANECDOTES I have never been particularly fond of poetry; it has always, with a few exceptions, seemed to me to be "wishy-washy." One day when it was quite dismal and rainy, Miss Eleanor said, "This little poem of Tupper's is a real protest for the future life and immortality of animals." Of course that great big word was a poser, but after a time spent under the bed and a great deal of stuttering I mastered it. Then she read these lines, and I must quote them because they may influence those who never have any mind of their own, and depend on other people's opinions, to believe that cats have an after life. "Are these then made in vain? Is man alone, of all the marvels of creative love Blest with a scintillation of his essence? "To say that God annihilated aught Were to declare that in an unwise hour He planned and made somewhat superfluous." And then she read the story of the poor wretch whom no one followed to the grave but his faithful dog, who walked so mournfully behind the hearse. Yes, I could understand and see it all, and when Miss Milly wiped her eyes, and Miss Eleanor's voice grew tremulous, I had to wink and sneeze several times to conceal from them how deeply I was touched. And I know all that I care to about funerals. When I hear the roll of carriages, I mount a chair and look out of the window, and feel so sorry for them, remembering how I felt when they carried away our dear one, and left me alone all day, sitting in her easy-chair. And when I see that dreadful vehicle called a hearse, I am thankful that cats do not have to ride in them,--above all, the little white hearse. It does look just like the circus cars that I have seen pass, and the first time I saw it, I looked behind for the elephant, and the other beasts I had always seen in their train. It makes one a convert to cremation. If I had the question to decide, it would be cremation for man and beast.