On a tree, standing on a small island formed by the washout of the day before, lay a large white cat. The sight of this cat brought to Walter recollections of the great loss he had sustained, and the tears rolled down his cheeks.
Was that your cat? remarked Webb.
Yes, sobbingly replied Walter. That is my Amy. Kit! kit! kit! Come here.
The cat heard and recognized the voice, and a moment later, was in Walter’s arms. He fondled her and talked to her in such a way that Webb was convinced that there was something besides the cat that affected him.
Never mind, my boy, you may take the cat with you to the camp and keep it for a playmate. I suppose that this was the only thing you had to love in your wilderness home?
No, replied Walter. I had another playmate that I loved, and the cat is named after her. Yes, Amy Powers was just as pretty, good and kind as this kitten.
And then he sobbed as if his heart was broke.
I think, said Webb, that as young as you are, that Cupid has shot an arrow that has lodged where you will never get rid of it.
Cupid? said Walter, I don’t know what Cupid is.