back door and went on with my preparations for the night. About ten
minutes later I went and called the cats again. It was a moonlight night
and I saw six delinquent cats coming in a flock across the open field
behind the house,--all marshalled by Mr. Thomas. He evidently hunted
them up and called them in himself; then he sat on the back porch and
waited until the last kit was safely in, before he stalked gravely in
with an air which said as plainly as words:--

"There, it takes _me_ to do anything with this family."

None of my cats would think of responding to the call of "Kitty, Kitty,"
or "Puss, Puss." They are early taught their names and answer to them.
Neither would one answer to the name of another, except in occasional
instances where jealousy prompts them to do so. We have to be most
careful when we go out of an evening, not to let Thomas Erastus get out
at the same time. In case he does, he will follow us either to the
railroad station or to the electric cars and wait in some near-by nook
until we come back. I have known him to sit out from seven until
midnight of a cold, snowy winter evening, awaiting our return from the
theatre. When we alight from the cars he is nowhere to be seen. But
before we have gone many steps, lo! Thomas Erastus is behind or beside
us, proudly escorting his mistresses home, but looking neither at them,
nor to the right or left. Not until he reaches the porch does he allow
himself to be petted. But on our way to the cars his attitude is
different. He is as frisky as a kitten. In vain do we try to "shoo" him
back, or catch him. He prances along, just out of reach, but
tantalizingly close; when we get aboard our car, we know he is safe in
some corner gazing sadly after us, and that no danger can drive him home
until we reappear.