A TRUE STORY.
After I had finished reading "The Nursery" to my little Willy to-night, he said, "Please, mamma, now tell me the story about the cat you had when you were a little girl; then I will go to bed."
When I had told him the story, as I have told it a great many times before, he said, "Mamma, why don't you send that story to 'The Nursery,' so that some other little boy can hear it too?"
"Why, Willie!" said I: "do you think it is enough of a story to put in print?"
"Of course I do!" said he. "I like it; and I ought to know what little boys like. Now, promise me to send it; and then I will go to bed." So I promised.
And now that my little boy has said his prayers, and is nicely tucked in bed, I will write out the story, hoping it will amuse some other little Willy as much as it does mine.
Here it is, just as I tell it to him:—
When I was quite young, I had a cat to which I gave the name of Becky. I know nothing of her very early history, for she was a sober pussy when she was given to me; but she soon became a great pet in the family, and seemed very fond of us all, particularly of my father.
She always showed great delight when he came home after a long absence. She would put her paws on his shoulders, and rub his face, and purr in a most contented manner. She would never eat a mouse until she had first carried it to him; and after he had stroked her, and called her a good pussy, she would go away quite happy.
After a time she had two beautiful kittens. When they were large enough to follow her about, I used to give them warm milk from the pail that was brought in from milking; but one morning, when the pail was set on the floor, the kittens were too hungry to wait for the milk to be dipped out for them, and, putting their paws on the side of the pail, began to lap from the top
Becky sat quietly washing her face; but she saw what the kittens were doing, and thought it was her duty to give them a lesson in good manners: so she walked up to them, and boxed their ears till they ran away mewing piteously. They never again tried to lap milk from the pail.
"Tell me something else about Becky," Willy always says when I get to this point. So I go on:—
Becky was not so strict about her own manners. She would often surprise us by walking into our rooms without stopping to rap, or even to say mew; for she could open any door in the house by raising the latch with her paw.
She had several families of kittens. Once her whole family was one poor little thing, which lived only a few days. Becky was grieved sadly at its death; but, after mourning for some time, she went into the field and caught a mouse, which she adopted, and treated like a kitten.
After Becky had been with us a long time, my brother was taken sick; and, as he reclined in an easy-chair, she used to lie for hours beside him.
One day, a short time after he died, she entered the room, and, jumping up in the chair, examined it all over. Then she jumped down and sat on the floor, looking at the chair, and mewing sorrowfully. Then she went away; and we never saw poor Becky again, or knew what became of her.
"What do you suppose became of her?" is Willy's question here. "Ah, little boy! you can suppose as well as I."
Willy's Mother.
