The hay-loft was very bewildering, and after I had once climbed up I felt like the travellers my mistress loved to read of--very proud of my exploits. They had a great yellow cat called Tabby. Now I did hate yellow, and of all weak names I think "Tabby" the weakest. But oh my! "What's in a name?" Sure enough, she was just the reverse of her name. Although she was not "my style," I could not, in that lonesome place, afford to pass her over. After a time she became quite friendly with me, though at first she had resented my style, as she called it. She evidently thought I was a cat "Astor or Vanderbilt," with my collar and padlock,--that "bete noir" to all cats that I met. They confounded it with the ropes of pearls and strings of diamonds that society women pawn their souls for; but when I explained to her that it was an inexpensive badge, with the name engraved on it so that my friends could recover me when I got lost,--that it represented their affection instead of their dollars,--she, like a sensible cat, realized at once its use, and admired it, saying it was very becoming to the aristocratic bend of my neck. After this I did think she was a cat with good judgment and exquisite taste. When she saw how delighted I was with her kittens, she allowed me to play with them all I cared to. They were all colors, and the loveliest little creatures I ever saw--four of them. They looked upon me in the light of a bachelor uncle, and were after me all the time. They grudged me the night separation, for my mistress would not allow me out of her room at night. I was very clumsy with them at first, as old bachelors naturally are, but soon took them in my arms as deftly as their mother did. I was delighted to have them run after me and kick and bite me. I felt sad at first that I was denied this pleasure, that no little ones of my own would ever play about me. But, when Tabby told me her sad tale, I no longer regretted I had been spared so much sorrow. She said when she saw them happy and loving to all around, she trembled, for she knew at any moment they might be taken from her. She said she had tried to hide her other kittens in every corner she could find, but it was of no use; they were all sacrificed. They were delighted to play with my collar and padlock, and they scratched it so badly that my mistress said that if I was going to allow myself to be used by the "Scratch Grabble" family as a plate for their etchings that I had better go without a collar. Go without my collar! Perish the thought! I would tie a blade of grass around my neck rather than go undecorated. Daisy without a collar! The idea! The family allowed Tabby to go out and in as she pleased. She had plenty of food, and was treated kindly for her usefulness, for the rats she had killed counted into the hundreds; but petting was beyond their comprehension.