Concerning the ^^ Pretty Lady** 



folding bed, jump down, and be at the hall door ready 

 to greet the incomer, before she was halfway up 

 the stairs. The cat never got down for the wrong 

 person, and she never neglected to meet any and 

 every member of our family who might be entering. 

 The irreverent scoffer may call it " instinct," or talk 

 about the " sense of smell." I call it sagacity. 



One summer we all went up to the farm in northern 

 Vermont, and decided to take her and her son, " Mr. 

 McGinty," with us. We put them both in a large 

 market-basket and tied the cover securely. On the 

 train Mr. McGinty manifested a desire to get out, 

 and was allowed to do so, a stout cord having been 

 secured to his collar first, and the other end tied to 

 the car seat. He had a deUghtful journey, once used 

 to the noise and motion of the train. He sat on our 

 laps, curled up on the seat and took naps, or looked 

 out of the windows with evident puzzlement at the 

 way things had suddenly taken to flying; he even 

 made friends with the passengers, and in general 

 amused himself as any other traveller would on an 

 all-day's journey by rail, except that he did not risk 

 his eyesight by reading newspapers. But the Pretty 

 Lady had not travelled for some years, and did not 

 enjoy the trip as well as formerly ; on the contrary 

 she curled herself into a round tight ball in one 

 corner of the basket till the journey's end was 

 reached. 



Once at the farm she seemed contented as long as 



17 



