that some mischief was on foot: and ran out into the garden,
and climbed up the old apple-tree at the foot of the steps, and crawled
out on a branch, from which I could look directly into the parlor
windows. Oh! my dear Helen, you can fancy how I felt, to see all the
chairs and tables and bookshelves in a pile in the middle of the floor,
the books all packed in big baskets, and Mary taking out window after
window as fast as she could. I forgot to tell you that your mother went
away last night. I think she has gone to Hadley to make a visit, and it
looks to me very much as if Mary meant to run away with every thing
which could be moved, before she comes back. After awhile that ugly
Irishwoman, who lives in Mr. Slater's house, came into the back gate:
you know the one I mean,--the one that threw cold water on me last
spring. When I saw her coming I felt sure that she and Mary meant to
kill me, while you were all away; so I jumped down out of the tree, and
split my best claw in my hurry, and ran off into Baker's Grove, and
stayed there all the rest of the day, in dreadful misery from cold and
hunger. There was some snow in the hollows, and I wet my feet, which
always makes me feel wretchedly; and I could not find any thing to eat
except a thin dried-up old mole. They are never good in the spring.
Really, nobody does know what hard lives we cats lead, even the luckiest
of us! After dark, I went home; but Mary had fastened up every door,
even the little one into the back shed. So I had to jump into the cellar
window, which is a thing I never like to do since I got that bad sprain
in my shoulder from coming down on the edge of a milk-pan. I crept up to
the head of the kitchen stairs, as still as a mouse, if I'm any judge,
and listened there for a long time, to try and make out, from Mary's
talk with the Irishwoman, what they were planning to do. But I never
could understand Irish, and although I listened till I had cramps in all
my legs, from being so long in one position, I was no wiser. Even the
things Mary said I could not understand, and I usually understand her
very easily. I passed a very uncomfortable night in the carrot bin. As
soon as I heard Mary coming down the cellar stairs, this morning, I hid
in the arch, and while she was skimming the milk, I slipped upstairs,
and ran into the sitting-room. Every thing there is in the same
confusion; the carpet is gone; and the windows too, and I think some of
the chairs have bee