given up trying to make clear the real merits of her pet; she only
knew that Poppy was more loving and lovable, more sympathetic and
comprehending, than the majority of humans. She could count on
Poppy's never jarring on any mood, whether grave or gay. Poppy
adored listening to poetry read aloud, sitting immovable save for
slowly blinking eyes for an hour at a stretch. She even had an
appreciation for music, often remaining in the parlour throughout
her mistress's practice period, and sometimes purring an
accompaniment to tunes she especially liked--such tunes as "The
Maiden's Prayer" or "Old Black Joe with Variations." There was, too,
about her a touch of something which Missy thought must be
mysticism; for Poppy heard sounds and saw things which no one else
could--following these invisible objects with attentive eyes while
Missy saw nothing; then, sometimes, she would get up suddenly,
switching her tail, and watch them as they evidently disappeared.
But Missy never mentioned Poppy's gift of second sight; she knew the
old people would only laugh.

Now she cuddled Poppy in her lap, and with a sense of companionship,
enjoyed the landscape of silvered loveliness and peace. A sort of
sad enjoyment, but pleasantly sad. Occasionally she sighed, but it
was a sigh of deep content. Such things as perching dizzily atop a
horse's back, even cantering in graceful insouciance, seemed far,
far away.

Yet, after she was in her little white bed, in smiling dreams she
saw herself, smartly accoutred in gleaming boots and pepper-and-salt
riding-breeches, galloping up to Pieker's grocery and there, in the
admiring view of the Post Office loafers and of a dumbfounded
Arthur, cantering insouciantly across the sidewalk and into the