"You're a queer little kite," interjected the young man, and he exchanged an amused glance with Mrs. Minley, who was swaying gently back and forth in a rocking-chair.
"So you wasn't very much set up at the asylum?" he went on.
"I guess I'm too bad for a 'sylum. Once our washerwoman took me home to supper. I guess heaven must be like that. They had a cat, too. I used to get in most trouble at the 'sylum 'bout cats. When starvin' ones came rubbin' up agin me in the garden, I couldn't help sneakin' them a bit o' bread from the pantry. It beats all, how cats find out people as likes 'em. Then I'd get jerked up."
"Jerked up?" repeated her interlocutor.
"Locked in my room, or have my hands slapped. Once I took a snake in the house. He was cold, but he got away from me, an' the matron found him in her bed. She whipped me that time."
"Was that what made you run away?"
"No, I run away on account o' this dog. You call up the cold spell we had a week ago?"
"You bet—I was out in it."
"Well, there come the coldest night. The matron give us extry blankets, but I couldn't sleep. I woke up in the middle o' the night, an' I thought o' that dog out in the stable. 'He'll freeze,' I said, an' when I said it, it seemed as if icicles were stickin' into me. I was mos' crazy. I got up an' looked out the window. There was a moon, an awful bitin', ugly kind of a moon grinnin' at me. I put on some clo'es, I slipped down-stairs, an' it seemed as if everythin' was yellin' in the cold. Every board an' every wall I touched went off like a gun, but no one woke, an' I got out in the stable.