y."

"How?" asked Demi, feeling that there was a peculiar charm about this
old woman, and some sort of joke about the cats, because Dan was smiling
to himself.

"A kind lady, who was fond of cats, told her how, and gave her some
stuff, and sent all her own pussies to be killed that way. Marm used
to put a sponge wet with ether, in the bottom of an old boot, then poke
puss in head downwards. The ether put her to sleep in a jiffy, and she
was drowned in warm water before she woke up."

"I hope the cats didn't feel it. I shall tell Daisy about that. You have
known a great many interesting things, haven't you?" asked Demi, and
fell to meditating on the vast experience of a boy who had run away more
than once, and taken care of himself in a big city.

"Wish I hadn't sometimes."

"Why? Don't remembering them feel good?"

"No."

"It's very singular how hard it is to manage your mind," said Demi,
clasping his hands round his knees, and looking up at the sky as if for
information upon his favorite topic.

"Devilish hard no, I don't mean that;" and Dan bit his lips, for the
forbidden word slipped out in spite of him, and he wanted to be more
careful with Demi than with any of the other boys.

"I'll play I didn't hear it," said Demi; "and you won't do it again, I'm
sure."

"Not if I can help it. That's one of the things I don't want to
remember. I keep pegging away, but it don't seem to do much good;" and
Dan looked discouraged.

"Yes, it does. You don't say half so many bad words as you used to; and
Aunt Jo is pleased, because she said it was a hard habit to break up."

"Did she?" and Dan cheered up a bit.

"You must put swearing away in your fault-drawer, and lock it up; that's
the way I do with my badness."

"What do you mean?" asked Dan, looking as if he found Demi almost as
amusing as a new sort of cockchafer or beetle.

"Well, it's one of my private plays, and I'll tell you, but I think
you'll laugh at it," began Demi, glad to hold forth on this congenial
subject. "I play that my mind is a round room, and my soul is a little
sort of creature with wings that lives in it. The walls are full of
shelves and drawers, and in them I keep my thoughts, and my goodness and
badness, and all sorts of things. The goods I keep where I can see
them, and the bads I lock up tight, but they get out, and I have to
keep putting them in and squeezing them down, they are so strong. The
thoughts I play with when I am alone or i