“Hold jaw! When I’m gone, Jacobina will have no one to feed her. She’ll feed herself—will go to every larder, every house in the place—your’s best larder, best house;—will come to you oftenest. If your wife attempts to drive her away, scratch her eyes out; if you disturb her, serve you worse than Joe Webster’s little boy:—wanted to prevent this—won’t now, d—d if I do!”
“But, Corporal, how would it mend the matter to take the devil in-doors?”
“Devil! Don’t call names. Did not I tell you, only one Jacobina does not hurt is her master?—make you her master: now d’ye see?”
“It is very hard,” said Peter grumblingly, “that the only way I can defend myself from this villainous creature is to take her into my house.”
“Villainous! You ought to be proud of her affection. She returns good for evil—she always loved you; see how she rubs herself against you—and that’s the reason why I selected you from the whole village, to take care of her; but you at once injure yourself and refuse to do your friend a service. Howsomever, you know I shall be with young Squire, and he’ll be master here one of these days, and I shall have an influence over him—you’ll see—you’ll see. Look that there’s not another ‘Spotted Dog’ set up—augh!—bother!”
“But what would my wife say, if I took the cat? she can’t abide its name.”
“Let me alone to talk to your wife. What would she say if I bring her from Lunnun Town a fine silk gown, or a neat shawl, with a blue border—blue becomes her; or a tay-chest—that will do for you both, and would set off the little back parlour. Mahogany tay-chest—inlaid at top—initials in silver—J. B. to D. and P. D.—two boxes for tay, and a bowl for sugar in the middle.—Ah! ah! Love me, love my cat! When was Jacob Bunting ungrateful?—augh!”
“Well, well! will you talk to Dorothy about it?”
“I shall have your consent, then? Thanks, my dear, dear Peter; ‘pon my soul you’re a fine fellow! you see, you’re great man of the parish. If you protect her, none dare injure; if you scout her, all set upon her. For as you said, or rather sung, t’other Sunday—capital voice you were in too—
“The mighty tyrants without cause Conspire her blood to shed!”