wild-cat did not fly, but walked slowly towards the arrow, and
snuffed at it.

"That's the most comical wild-cat I ever saw!" cried Jack.

"It's a tame wild-cat, I think," said Peterkin, levelling his spear
to make a charge.

"Stop!" cried I, laying my hand on his shoulder; "I do believe the
poor beast is blind. See, it strikes against the branches as it
walks along. It must be a very old one;" and I hastened towards
it.

"Only think," said Peterkin, with a suppressed laugh, "of a
superannuated wild-cat!"

We now found that the poor cat was not only blind, or nearly so,
but extremely deaf, as it did not hear our footsteps until we were
quite close behind it. Then it sprang round, and, putting up its
back and tail, while the black hair stood all on end, uttered a
hoarse mew and a fuff.

"Poor thing," said Peterkin, gently extending his hand, and
endeavouring to pat the cat's head. "Poor pussy; chee, chee, chee;
puss, puss, puss; cheetie pussy!"

No sooner did the cat hear these sounds than all signs of anger
fled, and, advancing eagerly to Peterkin, it allowed itself to be
stroked, and rubbed itself against his legs, purring loudly all the
time, and showing every symptom of the most extreme delight.