"And now," sez Miss Tutt, plungin' her hand in the bag, and
drawin' out a sheet of paper, "to convince you that Ardelia has
always had this divine gift of poesy -- that it is not, all the
effect of culture and high education -- let me read to you a poem
she wrote when she wuz only a mere child," and Miss Tutt read:

"LINES ON A CAT

"WRITTEN BY ARDELIA TUTT,
"At the age of fourteen years, two months and eight days.

"Oh Cat! Sweet Tabby cat of mine;
6 months of age has passed o'er thee,
And I would not resign, resign
The pleasure that I find in you.
Dear old cat!"

"Don't you think," sez Miss Tutt, "that this poem shows a fund of
passion, a reserve power of passion and constancy, remarkable in
one so young?"

"Yes," sez I reasonably, "no doubt she liked the cat. And," sez
I, wantin' to say somethin' pleasant and agreeable to her, "no
doubt it was a likely cat."

"Oh the cat itself is of miner importance," sez Miss Tutt. "We
will fling the cat to the winds. It's of my daughter I would
speak. I simply handled the cat to show the rare precocious
intellect. Oh! how it gushed out in the last line in the
unconquerable burst of repressed passion -- `Dear old cat!'