his back, received tlie cat with all four of his 

 feet, and gave Mr. Tom such a combing down 

 that his golden fur went flying off like thistle- 

 down in autumn. 



It was all over in less than half a minute. I 

 think Tom must have made a new record for 

 himself in the running high jump when he broke 

 away from his ring-tailed antagonist. He struck 

 out across the yard and landed midway up the 

 clothes-post with a single bound. And Mux? 

 He ambled on around the yard, as calm and un- 

 concerned as if he had only stopped to scratch 

 himself. 



Much of this unconcern, however, was a quiet 

 kind of swagger. When he thought no one 

 fiercer than a chicken or the humbled Mr. Tom 

 was looking, he would shuffle across the yard 

 with his coat collar turned up, his hat over his 

 eye, his elbows angled— just as if he had been 

 born and bred on the Bowery instead of in the 

 Bear Swamp. He was king of the yard, but I 

 could see that he wore his crown uneasily. He 

 kept a bold front, accepted every challenge, and 

 even went out of his way to pick a quarrel ; yet 

 he quaked at heart continually. He feared and 

 [112] 



