Tom was not a boy――but a cat! He was born and brought up in a barn. One day, when he and his little brothers and sisters were frolicking over the barn floor, all alone, a little snappish dog peeped in and saw what was going on. In he came, and began to chase the kittens. They were awfully frightened, and scampered in all directions. Some dove into a hole in the floor――one hid behind a barrel, and two attempted to climb up the hay-mow. One of these was our hero Tom. But, alas, as he was scratching up, the dog caught him in his back, and gave him a terrible grip with his long sharp teeth. Tom screamed, and the old cat, who was out behind the barn watching a mouse, heard him. She knew that something bad was going on. She left the mouse in an instant, and ran into the barn. I wish you could have seen her as she approached the dog, who was shaking poor Tom, in his teeth. Her back was sticking up as well as her tail. The hair of the latter was extended so as to make it look as large round as a lady’s boa. Her mouth was open, her teeth bare, her eyes flashing like fire. She seemed to dance along the floor toward the dog, as if the wind blew her. Before the dog knew what was coming, puss was upon him with teeth and claws. Now was his turn to squeal. She bit his ears and scratched his eyes, before he could turn round. Then he fled, yelling with all his might. Puss followed, jump for jump, and laying her claws at every leap upon the dog’s hinder quarters, the hair flew as if her paws had been a couple of curry-combs. When the dog came to the street, he laid down his ears, hid his tail between his legs, and, stretching away, at last escaped. Puss came back, and there lay poor Tom, unable to move. She took him up gently in her mouth, and carried him to the bed. She laid him down, mewed to him with a soft purring voice, as if to comfort him. She then licked off the blood, and finally curled herself around him, to keep him warm. Poor Tom at last went to sleep. What a good mother was old puss, and how much like the kind mothers of little children! The next day Tom was very stiff and sore. He could not move, or sleep, or eat. Oh, how he did suffer! But puss was by his side, almost all the time. She licked his wounds gently, so as to soothe and not to hurt them. She kept him warm, and purred to him, and did all she could. In three or four days he began to get better. In a month his wounds were healed, but one of his hind legs, being broken, was shorter than the others, and always remained so. It was also rather weak; so that Tom, when he grew up, was lame, and therefore he got the name of Limping Tom.