THE CAT AND THE CAN. 177 



The sharp points had her by the throat, and would not loose their 

 hold. She was shut up forever in this dreadful head-prison. At 

 last poor Mops became so exhausted that she lay quietly on the 

 ground, only hoping that death would come to release her from 

 her misery. But she did not have to wait for death, — the poor 

 pussy ! 



After a time she heard footsteps. She trembled. Was it 

 the cook? But it was a man's voice that she heard, speaking in 

 gruff, but kind, tones: "Well! well! who ever saw the like of 

 that? Poor kitty ! Poor puss ! Cheer up, there ! I'll take you out 

 of that. How she got in is a mystery to me," said Farmer Johns, 

 as he stooped down and carefully bent the edges of the can out- 

 ward. Then, grasping Mops firmly by the neck, he gently drew her 

 head out. Mops looked up. It seemed too good to be true. The 

 light dazzled her eyes so that she could hardly see her kind 

 preserver; but she rubbed against his legs, and purred, and 

 squeaked with pleasure and gratitude. "There now!" said the 

 kind farmer. "Who says cats have no sense?" — "I'll tell you, 

 what, pussy," he continued, " you are always getting into trouble 

 with cook, and it's no wonder. Suppose you live out here in the 

 barn, and catch mice all day, and I'll give you a dish of new milk 

 twice a day. What do you say, hey?" 



"Mew! mew! mi-a-anow!" said Mops. " I will! I will! I will! " 

 And she did. 



