200 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



two well-loved cats. Affection for these animals 

 became a family trait. When we were young, each 

 of us had a kitten. We gathered round the fire at 

 night, and our sleek, well-fed pets sat at our feet, 

 basking in the grateful warmth. 



&quot; There was one cat, however, that never j oined 

 the circle. He was a poor ugly thing, and so con 

 scious of his defects that he held aloof with invinci 

 ble shyness and reserve. He was the butt, the 

 souffre douleur of our little society ; and the inborn 

 malignity of our natures found expression in the 

 ridicule with which we pelted him. His name was 

 Moquo. He was thin and weak, his coat was 

 scanty, he needed the warm fireside more than the 

 other cats ; but the children frightened him, and 

 his comrades, wrapped snugly in their furry robes, 

 disdained to take any notice of his presence. Only 

 my father would go to the dim, cold corner where he 

 cowered, pick him up, carry him to the hearth, and 

 tuck him safely out of sight under a fold of his own 

 coat. There, warm, safe, and unseen, poor Moquo 

 would take courage, and softly purr his gratitude. 

 Sometimes, however, we caught a glimpse of him, 

 and then, in spite of my father s reproaches, we 

 laughed and jeered at his melancholy aspect. I can 

 still recall the shadowy creature shrinking away, and 

 seeming to melt into the breast of his protector, 

 closing his eyes as he crept backward, choosing to 

 see and hear nothing. 



