“What is it to spell?”
“I don’t know; what is it?”
“I can best answer your question by showing you. Have you ever seen a cat?”
“Do you mean a pussy?”
“Yes; some folks call it that.”
“Oh, yes; when we came from where we used to live,––I guess it must have been three or four hundred years ago, we brought my pussy along. Her name was Nellie, the same as mine.”
“What became of her?”
“She died,” was the sorrowful reply; “I guess she was homesick.”
“That was too bad. Now will you tell me what letter that is?”
“Why, Mr. Brush, don’t you know?”