ter" that
he could read for himself, or a "wrong letter" that must be read to
him. The hint bore fruit, and to his carefully pencilled epistle:

Have you seen a Water Baby? Did you put it in a bottle? Did it
wonder if it could get out? Can I see it some day?

came a reply from his grandfather, neatly printed, letter by letter,
very unlike the orderly confusion with which his pen usually rushed
across the paper--to the great perplexity, often, of his foreign
correspondents and sometimes of correspondents nearer home:--

I never could make sure about that Water Baby. I have seen
Babies in water and Babies in bottles; but the Baby in the
water was not in a bottle, and the Baby in the bottle was not
in water.

My friend who wrote the story of the Water Baby was a very
kind man and very clever. Perhaps he thought I could see as
much in the water as he did. There are some people who see a
great deal and some who see very little in the same things.

When you grow up I dare say you will be one of the great-deal
seers and see things more wonderful than Water Babies where
other folks can see nothing.

There is a story of Mohammed that once, rather than disturb a
favourite cat, he cut off the sleeve of his robe on which it lay
asleep. Whether in like circumstances my father would have done the
same--had flowing sleeves been a Victorian fashion--I cannot certainly
say, though he once was found similarly dispossessed of his favourite
study chair; but he always regarded this anecdote as displaying
an agreeable trait in the Prophet. For he himself was very fond
of animals, and, though we seldom kept dogs in London, cats were
invariable members of the household. Apropos of these, a letter may
be quoted which was written in 1893 in reply to an inquiry from a
journalist who was collecting anecdotes for an article on the Home
Pets of Celebrities:--

A long series of cats has reigned over my household for the
last forty years, or thereabouts, but I am sorry to say that I
have no pictorial or other record of their physical and moral
excellences.

The present occupant of the throne is a large, young,
grey Tabby--Oliver by name. Not that he is in any sense a
protector, for I doubt whether he has the heart to kill a
mouse. However, I saw him catch and eat the first butterfly
of the season, and trust that this germ of courage, thus
manifested