But how that cat found her way home is a question no one could ever answer. The boys carried her down in a wagon. The Juniper (now called the "Willows"--a famous Salem resort) was about a mile from the home she was taken from. It is a rather crooked road for one to remember. She probably hid herself and followed the boys at a distance. My opinion is that Sim just used her wits, and thought it out as we all do, and followed the trail of the wagon. It is really a cat tail we are all sure of. The family said that they never could go down to that pleasant resort, in after years, without thinking that Sim was hovering around in spirit. Had she been black, a witch cat, they would have felt sure of it. XVIII THANKSGIVING I suppose I am growing old and forgetful, for memory brings things to me upside down, as I have heard old people say. All I can do about it is to tell the little incidents relating to the past as they come back to me. For the last few days Thanksgiving has been in my mind more or less all the time, and I think you will be interested if I tell you about one that I enjoyed very much. My mistress took me in her arms one day, saying, "Daisy, you are going to have a real Thanksgiving." I opened my eyes wide (I know that I have very handsome eyes, and love to show them off, just as boys and girls do); for I did not know what a thanksgiving meant. "Yes," she said, "I have just received a note from our friend, Miss W. You know her." (I winked in answer, for I did admire her.) "Every year she sends us a turkey, with a basket of goodies all cooked, ready to eat. This note tells me that she will send the basket Thursday morning. Now you do not understand what 'Thanksgiving' means, and I will explain it to you." I settled myself comfortably on her lap; she always put on a clean white apron to keep the hairs from my coat off of her dress. I resented this, for I could not see, for the life of me, why cats' hair was not quite as good as camels' hair that her dress was made of. And I just crawled under her apron one day when she was reading, and I liked the feeling of the soft wool better than I did the cambric apron, it was so woolly and warm. I had just snoozed off, dreaming that I was asleep between the camel's humps she had told me of, when all at once she dropped her book, saying, "Oh, Daisy, just look at my dress!" And sure enough, it was covered all over with gray hair, for I was shedding my fur fast. I was really ashamed of myself, and said: "I am just like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde. So I will just go under the bed, the best place for a 'Hyde,' and repent of my wickedness. I do not know why I do these things, but my mistress loves me all the same." So this afternoon I sat on her nice apron, listening to her story of Thanksgiving like a well-behaved cat.