“You would find more cats there than here.”
“But they are my own family cats. I love them.”
“Yes, you love them,” said Mona shrewdly, “but you have left home. If you go back, you will be twice the kitten you were before you saw something of the world.”
“Do you mean to say that I would be jealous of my own dear parents and my brother and sister?”
“No, not jealous exactly, but you have an independent turn of mind, and you would not be willing to be as subject to them as you were before. You had better not go home, Black-Face.”
“What shall I do then?” I asked pitifully. “I see my life is to be made miserable here.”
“Your life will be what you make it yourself. You carry misery or joy inside you. No one can put it in you, if you are not willing.”
“I don't understand you,” I said stupidly.
Mona reflected for a few minutes, then she said, “When I first came here, I was the only dog. Then after a while, Dolly appeared. I was dreadfully jealous. I felt just as you are feeling. When Mr. and Mrs. Denville petted Dolly I was nearly crazy. I became sulky, and the consequence was that I was neglected. No one wants a cross dog about. Dolly was shown off to strangers, and taken for walks, and I was left at home. One day, when I was home here moping in my kennel, I began to reason the thing out. Dolly had as good a right to be here as I had. Mr. and Mrs. Denville had hearts large enough to hold two dogs, even though one was a pretty big creature. Why didn't I try to get on with Dolly, and, in that way, please my master and mistress. The thing was worth trying, so when Mr. Denville put Dolly in the yard an hour or two later, I ran up to meet her. The poor little thing was frightened, and crouched down, but I wagged my tail and licked her kindly. Mrs. Denville had come with her husband in the yard, and as she lifted her dog whip to strike me, he said, 'Don't, Maud—the St. Bernard is getting over her jealousy.'”
“And did you?” I asked. “Could you?”