Josiah, looking as
unconcerned as possible, reading a newspaper. He was a student in the
college, and boarded at our house. At the sight of him all my
indignation and grief broke forth afresh. I began to cry again; and
running up to him, I doubled up my fist and shook it in his face.

"I said I'd never speak to you as long as I lived," I cried; "but I
will. You're just a murderer, a real murderer; that's what you are! and
when you go to be a missionary, I hope the cannibals'll eat you! I hope
they'll eat you alive raw, you mean old murderer!"

"Helen Maria!" said my father's voice behind me, sternly. "Helen Maria!
leave the room this moment!"

I went away sullenly, muttering, "I don't care, he is a murderer; and I
hope he'll be drowned, if he isn't eaten! The Bible says the same
measure ye mete shall be meted to you again. He ought to be drowned."

For this sullen muttering I had to go without my breakfast; and after
breakfast was over, I was made to beg Cousin Josiah's pardon; but I did
not beg it in my heart--not a bit--only with my lips, just repeating the
words I was told to say; and from that time I never spoke one word to
him, nor looked at him, if I could help it.

My kind mother offered to get another kitten for me, but I did not want
one. After a while, my sister Ann had a present of a pretty little gray
kitten; but I never played with it, nor took any notice of it at all. I
was as true to my Pussy as she was to me; and from that day to this, I
have never had another Pussy!

I.

My Dear Helen:

That is what your mother calls you, I know, for I jumped up on
writing-table just now, and looked, while she was out of the room; and I
am sure I have as much right to call you so as she has, for if you were
my own little kitty, and looked just like me, I could not love you any
more than I do. How many good naps I have had in your lap! and how many
nice bits of meat you have saved for me out of your own dinner! Oh, I'll
never let a rat, or a mouse, touch any thing of yours so long as I live.

I felt very unhappy after you drove off yesterday, and did not know what
to do with myself. I went into the barn, and thought I would take a nap
on the hay, for I do think going to sleep is one of the very best things
for people who are unhappy; but it seemed so lonely without old Charlie
stamping in his stall that I could not bear it, so I went into the
garden, and lay down under the damask rose-bush, and caught f