There was an ugly, ill-tempered stable-boy, named Sturt, and a very cruel boy he was to cats. He was very fond of dogs, and never so fond of them as when they turned a cat on its back, or drew a rat from his hole. His chief delight was in cat hunting. He had a fierce little terrier dog, which he taught to be as cruel as himself. This dog was always on the watch for cats. Poor puss, like a wise cat, had secreted her kittens in the hay-loft, on purpose to guard against this dog. But she often heard him bark in the day, and felt quite frightened, although she knew he could not get up into the hay-loft, still she feared that some day, when her kittens grew larger, they would come down and he would tease them. The dog _Snap_, for that was his name, never saw puss but he chased her round the stable-yard. On one occasion, this boy, Sturt, set him on, and puss could not get out of the way till she flew up an apple tree, and here the dog watched her, and would not let her come down. Puss thought of her kittens, and at last made a desperate plunge at Snap, scratching his face and eyes most wofully, and ran with all speed to the ladder leading to the hay-loft. Up this she ran, and Snap after her. When she had mounted three or four of the steps, she turned round and gave him such a parting scratch, as tumbled him off the ladder; while Sturt threw the curry-comb at her, as she made good her retreat into the hay-loft. Nor was this all; for, feeling incensed at his dog being beaten, Sturt followed puss, and at last found her hiding-place, with the five little kittens. “Oh, oh! marm,” said he, “here are you and your kittens.” With that, he attempted to drag the kittens out; but puss flew at him with the greatest violence, and bit and scratched his hands till they bled profusely. It was a day or two before the fourth of July, and Sturt had for some time been preparing squibs and crackers for that well known day. It occurred to him that the best way to dislodge the old cat would be to treat her to a squib or two: “for that will bring her out,” he said to himself, “if anything will.” Full of this notion he hastened down stairs, and groped his hand to the bottom of the oat-bin, where he had his combustibles, for fear of being found; and, procuring a light, he took one of the largest “double-bangers” he could find, and ascended quietly into the hay-loft. He crept cautiously to pussy’s hole, and having lit the end of the squib, placed the thick part so that it would rush into the hole as soon as it took fire, and retreated to the corner of the hay-loft to see the sport. Presently the squib ignited, and just as he had supposed, darted into the cat’s hole. But puss never came out, and in a moment _the whole of the hay-loft was on fire_!