A lady was once visiting at the house, who said she liked dogs, especially such splendid great ones as Leo; but she couldn’t see any thing agreeable or intelligent in a cat.
“There are some wonderful accounts of the sagacity of cats,” remarked Mr. Lee, smiling at Minnie’s quick flush of indignation. “If my little daughter will bring me that book we were looking at yesterday, I think I can soon convince you that they are certainly not wanting in intelligence.”
“They are capable of strong attachments,” said Mrs. Lee, as the child rose and left the room, followed closely by Fidelle. “I think none of Minnie’s pets show more real affection for her, nor more gratitude for her kindness.”
“Is this the book, father?” inquired the little girl, putting a handsomely bound volume into his hand, and looking very bright and rosy.
“Yes, child, this is it.”
“I thought it was, by the picture of the cats.”
The lady looked surprised; and presently asked, earnestly, “Can’t you read, Minnie?”
Vivid blushes spread all over the child’s face, as she softly answered, “No, ma’am.”
“We have our own views on that subject,” said the gentleman, smiling, as he drew his only daughter tenderly to his side. “She will learn fast enough when we put her to her books. At present, our only desire is to see her enjoy herself, and lay in a good stock of health.”
“Why not do both, Mr. Lee?” asked the lady. “My little Marie Louise is only four, and she can read almost as well as I can. She is learning to write, too, and really pens a letter very prettily.”