called upon to write for a child's paper about Caty's Gold Fish, which
were only minnows from Mink Brook.

"Caty is sitting on the floor at my feet, chattering as usual, and
asking questions." I seem to remember my calling over the banister to
an assembled family downstairs, "Muzzer, Muzzer, I dess I dot a
fezer," or "Muzzer, come up, I'se dot a headache in my stomach." I
certainly can recall my intense admiration for Professor Ira Young,
our next door neighbour, and his snowy pow, which I called "pity wite
fedders."

As years rolled on, I fear I was pert and audacious. I once touched
at supper a blazing hot teapot, which almost blistered my fingers, and
I screamed with surprise and pain. Father exclaimed, "Stop that noise,
Caty." I replied, "Put your fingers on that teapot--and don't
kitikize." And one evening about seven, my usual bedtime, I announced,
"I'm going to sit up till eight tonight, and don't you 'spute." I know
of many children who have the same habit of questions and sharp
retorts. One of my pets, after plying her mother with about forty
questions, wound up with, "Mother, how does the devil's darning needle
sleep? Does he lie down on a twig or hang, or how?" "I don't know,
dear." "Why, mother, it is surprising when you have lived so many
years, that you know so little!"

Mr. Higginson told an absurd story of an inquisitive child and wearied
mother in the cars passing the various Newtons, near Boston. At last
the limit. "Ma, why do they call this West Newton?" "Oh, I suppose for
fun." Silence for a few minutes, then, "Ma, what _was_ the fun in
calling it West Newton?"