s a good fire
in the grate, and it seemed to me so much better to go to sleep in
front of it than to run round after my own tail, or even my mother's,
though, of course, that was a great honour.

As for running after the reel of cotton when the cook dropped it, or
playing with the tassel of the blind-cord, or pretending that there were
mice inside the paper bag which I knew to be empty, I confess that I had
no heart or imagination for these diversions.

"Of course, you know best, mother," I used to say; "but it does seem to
me a dreadful waste of time. We might be much better employed."

"How better employed?" asked my mother severely.

"Why," I answered, "in eating or sleeping."

At first my mother used to box my ears, and insist on my learning such
little accomplishments as she thought necessary for my station in life.

"You see," she would say, "all this playing with tails and reels and
balls of worsted is a preparation for the real business of life."

"What is that?" asked my sister.

"Mouse-catching," said my mother very earnestly.

"There are no mice here," I said, stretching myself.

"No, but you will not always be here; and if you practise the little
tricks I show you now with the ball of worsted and the tips of our
tails, then, when the great hour comes, and a career is open to you, and
you see before you the glorious prize--the MOUSE--you will be quick
enough and clever enough to satisfy the highest needs of your nature."

"And supposing we don't play with our tails and the balls of worsted?" I
said.

"Then," said my mother bitterly, "you may as well lie down for the mice
to, run over you."

Thus at first she used to try to show me how foolish it was to think of
nothing but eating and sleeping; but after a while she turned all her
attention to teaching my brother and sister, and they were apt pupils.
They despised nothing small enough to be moved by their paws, which
could give them an opportunity of practising. They did not mind making
themselves ridiculous--a thing which has been always impossible with me.
I have seen Tabby, my sister, in the garden, playing with dead leaves,
as excited and pleased as though they had been the birds which she
foolishly pretended that they were.

I thought her very silly then, but I lived to wish that I had taken half
as much trouble with my lessons as she did with hers. My mother was very
pleased with her, especially after she caught the starlings. This was a