Kitty. Enough to make you vexed, indeed. But you seem to have got a squirrel just as pretty as Tom was.
Nancy. And we got it in the oddest manner. My aunt was walking in the garden,
and found it, with its chain on, entangled in the bushes.
Henry. Exactly the way I found my dog. He was in the garden with a great stick tied to his tail, all over mud and dirt; but I cleaned him, and now I would not part with him for a guinea.
Kitty. Suppose, Nancy, we let him out: I think he seems very tame.
Nancy. I really do not think he is very tame; we have not had him a day yet.
Fanny. Well! but if he was to be let out, tame or not tame, what do you think he would do?
Henry. Why jump off, and run away, to be sure. Are you such a stupid creature, not to know that?
Here the conversation was interrupted by a squeak from the further corner of the room. The case was this: Kitty, like an obstinate girl, had come to my cage, and, while Nancy was looking another way, opened my door; upon which
I walked out very composedly, and should have staid on the table, had she not screamed in such a manner as quite startled me. I jumped off, and ran under her chair. The whole company started up, and ran toward Kitty, who began to cry, conscious of its being her fault; but presently Nancy desired her not to cry, as there was no harm done; for I had run into the dear girl's hand, the moment she stooped to try to catch me. The young folks now departed. When I was put into my cage again, (after having received two kisses from Nancy, for being so tame,) she brought me some food, and let me take a little rest after my fright. In short, I lived a fortnight in the happiest manner I could have wished. But, alas! one day, as Nancy was playing with me, (without my chain,) the murderer of my predecessor entered. I was so shocked, that in two jumps I was out of the window, which two jumps I shall regret as long as I live; for I never was happier than at the good Mrs. Grevilles. I ran, as fast