heartedness she has not many equals, and in my opinion no
superiors. And I beg of you, let her have her way with the dumb
animals--they are her worship. It is an inheritance from her
mother. She knows but little of cruelties and oppressions--keep
them from her sight if you can. She would flare up at them and
make trouble, in her small but quite decided and resolute way; for
she has a character of her own, and lacks neither promptness nor
initiative. Sometimes her judgment is at fault, but I think her
intentions are always right. Once when she was a little creature
of three or four years she suddenly brought her tiny foot down upon
the floor in an apparent outbreak of indignation, then fetched it a
backward wipe, and stooped down to examine the result. Her mother
said:

"Why, what is it, child? What has stirred you so?"

"Mamma, the big ant was trying to kill the little one."

"And so you protected the little one."

"Yes, manure, because he had no friend, and I wouldn't let the big
one kill him."

"But you have killed them both."

Cathy was distressed, and her lip trembled. She picked up the
remains and laid them upon her palm, and said:

"Poor little anty, I'm so sorry; and I didn't mean to kill you, but
there wasn't any other way to save you, it was such a hurry."