Robert and Mary had followed them, wanting to see that they buried Mossy as they ought to. They arrived on the scene just at the moment when the poor little kittens were killed. Robert rushed forward and with one blow felled one cruel wretch to the ground, while the others fled.
Poor Mary almost fainted at the dreadful sight; but Robert put the two little kittens (that he took from their mother's dead body) into her arms, and as she wrapped them in her shawl, they cuddled up to her so confidingly that it comforted her, for she said, "They shall never know sorrow."
Robert was moved almost to tears. As soon as he could command his voice he said: "God will punish this act of cruelty, this crime. They are my brothers, but I would not lift up my hand to save them from prison."
He then made a grave, and Mary helped as well as she could (with the little kittens in her arms) to put in leaves, and Robert spread out his handkerchief and tenderly laid in poor Mossy and her three kittens. It was a solemn sight. Mary covered them with her handkerchief and a few more leaves, and then Robert filled in the grave.
They carried home the two little orphans in silence. The poor things were very hungry, and Mary fed them and put them into a basket with soft white wool, and as soon as they opened their eyes she was ready with milk and petting, that they might not feel their mother's loss.
Robert was very fond of them. As soon as they could run about he took them up to his den, where all his time was spent in study, and they were perfectly at home. They would dart about, over books, papers, and table, and there was so much electricity about them that Robert named them Castor and Pollux, for he said they were like a flash of lightning in their movements. Of course they were called Cassy and Polly. They were the exclusive property of Robert and Mary, and the boys never dared touch them.
The mother, a confirmed invalid, was never told of the boys' wickedness; for her sister, who had the care of her, with the help of Mary, kept everything of a disturbing nature from her.
Strange as it may appear, their instinct taught the kittens to shun their mother's murderers. They would never go near them; and another very strange thing—they would never, even when hungry, touch a bit of chicken. They never went near the hen-coop, and would run and hide when the hens and chickens were around.
Is there not some psychological explanation of this fact? Did not the spirit of the mother in some mysterious way influence her children?
It was supposed that Mossy, after losing her kittens so often, decided she would take the matter into her own hands and save those she was expecting. She went away, when near the time of their birth, and hid herself in a cave in the rocks, for it was found some time after that she had made a deep cave, digging it out patiently till it was large enough for comfort. Chicken feathers were found spread all around, proving she had thought about the comfort of her children and herself, and provided them a good home. She stole chickens from the neighboring coops, and feasted herself and used their feathers. She certainly displayed human intelligence in her work.