To Amos’s surprise, the cat summoned all its forces and, after one futile stagger, leaped into her arms. A strange little shape she looked to him, as she stood, with her head too large for her emaciated little body, which was arrayed in a coarse black serge suit, plainly flotsam and jetsam of the bargain counter, planned for a woman of larger frame. Yet uncouth as the woman looked, she was perfectly neat. “I’m obliged to you for saving the poor creature,” she said. “I’m obliged to you, ma’am, for taking it off my hands,” said Amos. He bowed; she returned his bow—not at all in the manner or with the carriage to be expected of such a plain and ill-clad presence. Amos considered the incident concluded. But a few days later she stopped him on the street, nervously smiling. “That cat, sir,” she began in her abrupt way—she never seemed to open a conversation; she dived into it with a shiver, as a timid swimmer plunges into the water—“that cat,” said she, “that cat, sir, is a right intelligent animal, and he has pleased the Colonel. He’s so fastidious I was afraid, though I didn’t mention it; but they are very congenial.” “I’m glad they’re friendly,” says Amos; “the Colonel would make mince-meat of an uncongenial cat. What do you call the cat?” “I couldn’t, on account of circumstances, you know, call him after my last cat, Miss Margaret Clark, so I call him Esquire Clark. He knows his name already. I thank you again, sir, for saving him. I just stopped you so as to tell you I had a lot of ripe gooseberries I’d be glad to have you send and pick.” “Why, that’s good of you,” said Amos. “I guess the boys at the jail would like a little gooseberry sauce.” She nodded and turned round; the words came over her shoulder: “Say, sir, I expect you wouldn’t give them jam? It’s a great deal better than sauce, and—_I_ don’t mind letting you have the extra sugar.” Amos was more bewildered than he showed, but he thanked her, and did, in fact, come that afternoon with a buggy. The first object to greet him was the large white head and the large black jaws of the Colonel, chained to a post. Amos, who is the friend of all dogs, and sometimes has an uninvited following of stray curs, gave the snarling figure-head a nod and a careless greeting: “All right, young feller. Don’t disturb yourself. I’m here, all proper and legal. How are you?” The redoubtable Colonel began to wag his tail; and as Amos came up to him he actually fawned on him with manifestations of pleasure. “I guess he’s safe to unloose, ma’am,” said Amos. Old Twentypercent was looking on with a strange expression. “He likes you, sir; I never saw him like a stranger before.” “Well, most dogs like me,” said Amos. “I guess they understand I like them.”