"But, dear mother," said Frank, "I hope you woke up so as to hear the history of the old cloak, and the comical coat, and the wig."
"I will see," she answered, "what more I can remember of those dreamy times which I passed in my dear mother's attic, the palace of my early days."
One very rainy Sunday, the noise of the children was too much for the older and graver part of the family, who wished to read and be quiet; and my mother advised me to take my book, and go up to my parlor.
I always liked to be there, and to be by myself, with only the society of my friend the cat who was perfectly docile and obedient to me. I took Pilgrim's Progress, my favorite book, and was soon very comfortably seated in my great old-fashioned arm chair. Puss was by my side in the chair, for there was plenty of room for us both.
O, that Puss, a famous cat she was. She was of a beautiful Maltese blue, with a very nice white handkerchief on her breast, a white ring for a necklace, and four white feet. She once met with an adventure worth relating.
A young harum scarum Italian was a friend of my mother's, and was often at our house. A young lady, to whom he was much devoted, had a fancy for cats. He resolved, at the Christmas season, to gratify this taste of hers, as well as his own love of all sorts of vagaries.
Christmas fell on Monday. On that morning, the young lady received an elegant package which contained, wrapped up in seven papers, carefully sealed, a picture of a great black cat, with fiery eyes, long whiskers, and a flaming red tongue, The young lady was a good deal astonished, you may believe.
The next morning, she found in her breakfast cup the prettiest little sugar cat you can imagine. She asked all the family who had played her the trick, but no one knew.
On Wednesday morning, when the house-maid opened the window to sweep the drawing room, as she always did at seven o'clock, a small, soft bundle came flying in at the window, and fell in the middle of the floor. The bundle was directed to Miss Mary, and contained a large rag cat, with a painted face, and with little bunches gathered up for nose and ears.
Inquiries were in vain. No one had seen the daring hand that tossed the rag pussy into the window. The lady's suspicions did not fall upon the Italian, because he had made her think that he was out of town.