My mistress was quite anxious about me. She gave me catmint tea and made me a lovely little blanket, and this with a thick shawl folded under it was placed on the lounge for my bed. I was very comfortable, and I hope a grateful cat, when I contrasted my lot with others. I did not feel (even to the dog that attacked me) any bitterness, for had he been taught better by his master, he would not have treated me like an enemy. How can we expect a life-long prejudice, such as dogs and cats have for each other, to be uprooted, unless they are taught better by their owners and by the good examples that ought to be set before them? How can human beings boast of being better than animals? Think of the heathen cannibals, eating human flesh. To them the fat little baby is just like a chicken. Then the Indians--did a cat ever worry a rat worse than they tortured the white men? When you think of this, can you conscientiously say we are worse, or even as bad as human beings? There is money, and eloquence, and sympathy for the heathen; but the poor animals are left to learn without teachers what ought to be taught them, to make them the faithful servants and intelligent companions of man. I trust the day will come when these humble friends will be as much thought of in the family as the children; there is no doubt they will fully repay all kindness done them. XIX MEWS AND PURRS In my humble opinion no one ever told stories to equal those of my friends. Miss Eleanor could tell the cutest little fox and pig stories, while Miss Milly excelled on cat stories. During my sickness they entertained me finely. Miss Eleanor used to tell a story of the "Pig Family," and the boys were wild over it. No matter how many new ones were told, they never were satisfied to go to sleep without hearing the well-worn pig story. One night when Miss Eleanor was away, Miss Milly put the children to bed, and of course told them stories. They were not satisfied without the pig story. She was in a hurry, and preferred to tell stories out of her own head, saying she did not know the Pig Family; that was Aunt Eleanor's story. At last, as they would not go to sleep without it, she told it to them as she remembered it. When it was finished, she looked at Willie, and saw that his lip was quivering and his eyes were full of tears. "What is the matter?" she said. "You haven't told about the little blue pig," he sobbed. "Oh, nonsense!" she said; "he is dead probably." This finished him. He cried as if his heart would break. She said she never killed a pig before, and had such a hard time bringing that blue one to life, she never would kill another.