First, there would be a thick row of cats around the pans,—so thick that only sixteen tails and thirty-two hind-legs could be seen. The next minute the heads would go lower, and the fore-paws would go up on the edge of the pans.
Then a kitten would jump in. Then they would all fight, and push, and spit, and snarl to get to the lower side of the pan, where the milk was the deepest.
And then it was all gone. And the pans would be licked clean. And then sixteen tongues licked sixteen jaws, and thirty-two eyes appealed for more. But it was no use to beg. Then sixty-four legs trotted off, and only old Gussy went into the house; while the others went to the barn.
There were no rats or mice around those premises, I tell you. I often wonder how many cats there are at farmer Clark's now. And sometimes I dream about them. This is a true story.
AUNT FAN.
TOM'S APPLE.
AH! ugh! oh!" cried little Tom. "There's a worm in my red apple, mamma."
"Is he a pretty worm?" asked his mamma, looking up from her sewing.