SOME years ago, a little dark-eyed orphan boy came to my house to stay a few weeks.
There was a little, puny kitten about the house, continually poking its nose into places forbidden, and thereby calling down upon its head the wrath of the housekeeper. Several times, it had been sent whirling through the window or door into the yard.
One day, when it had thus been treated, Willie beheld the scene. He took the kitten up in his arms, stroking its back tenderly, and came into the house.
Pity and indignation mingled in his tremulous tones, when he said, “You must be kind to the little kitten now, for it hasn’t got any mother!”
Later in the evening, Willie lay asleep on the carpet, in one hand a knife, and in the other a half-eaten apple. Directly the little kitten came in, and went whining around, until it saw Willie, when, without delay, it ceased its piteous mewing, crawled up close to his bosom, and went to sleep too.
