“Yes, I know you do; and you are not to look vexed now, for I don’t like that; the reason I did not like to tell you was, that we began lessons the moment I arrived, for I was later than usual to-day, because I staid to talk to Peggy Dobie about a bee-hive; I am going to get her a bee-hive; I have money for it now, and it will be ready for spring. She is so fond of bees; she says they are the best of company, an example to old and young, and the very hum of them is pleasant to her heart, and brings back her thoughts to her own land, and to days long gone by.”
“But what about Selina?” Matilda inquired.
“O yes, I was almost forgetting to tell you. She gave me such a fright. You know I am taming a linnet, for I read a story once about a little boy having tamed a linnet, and taught it to call persons by their names, and to imitate sounds, and whistle like nightingales and larks; and this linnet lived for forty years, and was only killed by an accident; so I thought if my linnet lived for forty years, it would be a comfort to me in my old age; and now I daresay it will be, for you can’t think how tame it is getting since you saw it, and it seems to love me more and more every day. Whenever I go into my room it flies to the side of the cage, and puts up its bill to kiss me, and then it hops down to the door, and stands watching till I open it and let it out. Yesterday, after I had let it out, I put a saucer of water on the table, that it might wash itself, for it likes so much to splash about in the water; and then I went into the drawing-room for a book. I staid a little, for I had opened the book at an interesting place, and I began to read, and forgot my dear little Mimi. Suddenly I heard something rush past me—it was Selina with my bird in her mouth. She darted under the sofa quite out of sight; I did not dare to lift up the cover of the sofa, for I thought I should see Mimi torn to pieces. I covered my face with my hands, and was trembling to hear it scream. Oh, I was so frightened! and so dreadfully angry, if I had had a stick, I believe I could have killed Selina. Think only if I had done it! My own Selina! I looked up and saw a strange cat with large eyes glaring at me: I flew at it, and dashed it out of the room in a great rage, and then Selina came softly out from below the sofa, and gently laid down Mimi quite safe at my feet. It was to save it from this strange cat that Selina had run away with it.”[A]
[A] A fact.
“Oh, what a dear creature!” Matilda exclaimed; “I do think no cat in the whole world can be so delightful as Selina. What a comfort that you did not hurt her. I was wishing so for a stick when you were telling it, I would have dashed her to pieces in a moment; and even if I had not had one, I think I would have trailed her out from below the sofa in some way or other. What a dreadful thing it would have been if I had killed her. But you see, Cousin Leila, we are a little like in some things, we both wished for sticks.”
“Yes, indeed, that is quite true; and I am sure you need never call me good. Only the day before yesterday I almost lost my life, because I was foolish and vain, and yesterday I might have killed a cat.”
“But you did not.”
“No, I did not; but I made papa very grieved, and he spoke to me a great deal about it, and said that when these fits of anger were not restrained in youth, they often led to the most dreadful crimes. He put me in mind of how I snatched my work out of Nurse’s hands, and danced upon it; and he said it grieved him to see that the same spirit of anger often possessed me, that though I was so much older now——”
“Well, don’t let us talk about that,” Matilda said. “Did Mrs. Roberts read to you any thing interesting about cats, any thing worth telling? Selina, you have such a good memory, I daresay you can remember something worth telling me.”
“Yes, she read us several anecdotes that I think you would have liked. She read to us about a favourite cat that belonged to a Madame Helvetius. It never touched the birds which she kept, almost constantly lay at her feet, and seemed to be always watching over her, and would never take any food but what she gave it. When Madame Helvetius died, the poor cat was removed from her chamber, but it made its way there next morning, got upon her bed, then upon her chair, slowly and mournfully passed over her toilet, and cried most piteously, as if lamenting her poor mistress; it refused all food, and after the funeral it was found stretched out on the grave quite dead.”