“Oh! yes,” said Helen, “I do, it is true; but, Lewis, I would rather not think about that now; and if the poor animals must be killed for our food, I am sure it might be done in a more humane manner than hunting them with dogs and guns.” Lewis could not deny this. “Papa,” said Helen, “once allowed me to keep rabbits, but you may be sure I never had any of my pets killed. It was such pleasure to watch the pretty creatures, and feed them every day; and then you cannot think how busy the old doe was in making a nest for her little ones. She chose the softest hay she could find, and when she had munched out all the hard parts, she stripped some of the thick warm down from her own breast to spread over it. At first, she covered up her young ones so closely that I could not see them; and papa told me not to disturb the nest: indeed, I should have been quite afraid to do so, for Minny, who was so gentle in common, used to try to bite me whenever I went near the nest, until her little ones grew larger and stronger and then she would let me take them in my hand and feed them.” “This is the case with many animals, my dear Helen,” said her aunt; “indeed, the attachment which some creatures manifest to their young is so strong, that they will die rather than abandon them. I recollect once reading an anecdote respecting an American sow, which pleased me much; because in her care for her offspring she evinced a degree of sagacity, which we are apt not to give the species credit for possessing. This animal was accustomed to pass her days in the woods, with a numerous litter of pigs, but to return regularly to the house in the evening, to share with her family a substantial supper. One of her pigs was, however, quietly slipped away to be roasted; in a day or two afterwards, another; and then a third. It would appear that this careful mother knew the number of her offspring, and missed those that were taken from her; for after this she came alone to her evening meal. This occurring repeatedly, she was watched coming out of the wood, and observed to drive back her pigs from its extremity; grunting with so much earnestness, and in a manner so intelligible, that they retired at her command, and waited patiently for her return.”[2] The children were much amused with this anecdote. Edward asked Helen, what became of her rabbits at last. Helen said, “that when she went to school, her little pets were all given to farmer Johnstone’s daughter, Susan. Minny and Bob were still alive and well, and the little ones they had nursed so tenderly were grown as large as themselves.”