impression that I killed him. Not that I loved him less; but children
are prone to experiment with this singular thing called life when it
is in their power. They do not believe that death can be other than a
transient phenomenon; the lifeless body may puzzle, but it does not
convince them. I was certainly not a cruel urchin, and I can recall
none but cordial sentiments towards Hindlegs on my part. I remember no
details of the murder, if murder were done; but I do remember feeling
no surprise when, one morning, Hindlegs was found dead. After so many
years, I will not bring against the owner of Hindlegs a verdict of
positive guilt; but I suspect him. Hindlegs, at all events, achieved
an immortality which can belong to few of his brethren; for my father,
after pooh-poohing the imbecile little bundle of fur for a day or two,
conceived an involuntary affection for him, and reported his character
and habits in his journal in a manner which is likely to keep his
memory alive long after the hand that (perhaps) slew him is dust.

In default of dogs and Hindlegs, we had abundant cats. My father was
always fond of these mysterious deities of ancient Egypt, and they
were never turned away from our doors; but how so many of them
happened to find us out in this remote region I cannot explain. It
seems as if goodwill towards cats spontaneously generated them. They
appeared, one after another, to the number of five; but when the time
came for us to leave the red house forever, the cats would not and
could not be packed up, and they were left behind. In my mind's eye I
still see them, squatting abreast, silhouetted against the sky, on the
brow of the hill as we drove down the road; for they had scampered
after our carry-all when we drove away. Cats teach Americans what they
are slow to learn--the sanctity and permanence of home.

But Lenox could not be a home for us. It was, indeed, a paradise for