es'm, I'll tell her."

"They have very deep feelings and folks ought to know it. Now, listen,
little girl. I had two maltese kittens once. They were sisters and
loved each other better than any girl sisters _you_ ever saw. One of the
kittens got caught in a trap and we had to kill her. And the other one
went round mewing and couldn't be comforted. She pined away, that kitty
did, and in three days she died. Now I know that for a fact."

"Poor child!" said Edith, much touched. "_She_ wasn't cold-hearted, I'll
tell mamma about that."

"Well, if she doesn't like 'em perhaps it wouldn't do any good; but
while you're about it you might tell her of two tortoise-shell cats I
had. They were sisters too. Whiff had four kittens and Puff had one and
lost it. And the way Whiff comforted Puff! She took her right home into
her own basket and they brought up the four kittens together. Wasn't
that lovely?"

"Oh, wasn't it, though?" said Edith. "Cats have hearts, I always knew
they did."

"That shows you're a sensible little girl," returned the old lady
approvingly. "But you haven't told me yet what your name is?"

"Edith Dunlee."

"I knew 'twas Dunlee--that's a Scotch name; but I didn't know about the
Edith. Well, Edith, so you've been to see the gold mine? Pokerish place,
isn't it? I hear they're going to bring down the engine from the big
plant and try to start it up again."

Edith had no idea what she meant by the "big plant," so made no reply.
Mrs. McQuilken went back to the subject of cats.

"Did you know the Egyptians used to worship cats? Well, sometimes they
did. And when their cats died they went into mourning for them."

"How queer!"

"It does seem so, but it's just as you look at it, Edith. Cats are a
sight of company. I didn't care so much about them or about birds
either when my husband was alive and my little children, but now--"

Again she paused, and this time she did not go on again. Some one out of
doors laughed; it was Jimmy Dunlee, and the mocking-bird took up the
merry sound and echoed it to perfection.

"Doesn't that seem human?" cried Mrs. McQuilken. And really it did. It
was exactly the laugh of a human boy, though it came from the throat of
a tiny bird.

"My little boys, Pitt and Roscoe, liked to hear him do that," said Mrs.
McQuilken.

Edith observed that she did not say "my boyoes." "Pitt, the one that
died in Japan, doted on the mocking-bird. The other boy, Roscoe, was all
bound up in the