ears , quite as great a pet, in a word, of us all as 

 Duchie was of ours. One day we found her 

 mourning the death of a cat, a great playfellow of 

 the Sputchards', and her small Grace was with us 

 when we were condoling with her, and we saw 

 that she looked very wistfully at Duchie. I wrote 

 on the slate, " Would you like her ? " and she 

 through her tears said, "You know that would 

 never do." But it did do. We left Duchie that 

 very night, and though she paid us frequent visits, 

 she was Cousin Susan's for life. I fear indulgence 

 dulled her moral sense. She was an immense 

 happiness to her mistress, whose silent and lonely 

 days she made glad with her oddity and mirth. 

 And yet the small creature, old, toothless, and 

 blind, domineered over her gentle friend — threaten- 

 ing her sometimes if she presumed to remove the 

 small Fury from the inside of her own bed, into 

 which it pleased her to creep. Indeed, I believe 

 it is too true, though it was inferred only, that her 

 mistress and friend spent a great part of a winter 

 night in trying to coax her dear little ruffian out 

 of the centre of the bed. One day the cook asked 

 what she would have for dinner : " I would like a 

 mutton chop, but then, you know, Duchie likes 

 minced veal better ! " The faithful and happy 

 little creature died at a great age of natural 

 decay. 



175 



