iS6 



But generally he was very happy. 



I am growing old — very old — now ; little Arthur 

 is still little Arthur and always will be. But we 

 neither of us care so much for play as we used to. 

 He loves me just as dearly as ever, though. 



Often we will sit for hours at the open window, 

 I purring gently, he with his book open before 

 him, and his eyes fixed on the blue sky and the 

 clouds above the houses opposite. 



I wonder what he is thinking about. 



I think a good deal myself. I think of the old 

 days in the barn. I think of my mother and my 

 gentle little sister, of the hard days after I left 

 them, and that our new cook doesn't thicken the 

 chicken gravy as well as the other one did, and 

 then I flick my ear. 



Oftenest I thank my lucky stars that I was a 

 poor, lame, stray cat, since my very lameness brought 

 me such a home and such a master as I have now. 



