If they asked her for money for books or something to make their pet animals more comfortable, or for their outdoor games, she gave it to them willingly.  Her ideas about the bringing up of children I cannot explain as clearly as she can herself, so I will give part of a conversation that she had with a lady who was calling on her shortly after I came to Washington Street.

I happened to be in the house at the time.  Indeed, I used to spend the greater part of my time in the house.  Jack one day looked at me, and exclaimed:  “Why does that dog stalk about, first after one and then after another, looking at us with such solemn eyes?”

I wished that I could speak to tell him that I had so long been used to seeing animals kicked about and trodden upon, that I could not get used to the change.  It seemed too good to be true.  I could scarcely believe that dumb animals had rights; but while it lasted, and human beings were so kind to me, I wanted to be with them all the time.  Miss Laura understood.  She drew my head up to her lap, and put her face down to me:  “You like to be with us, don’t you, Joe?  Stay in the house as much as you like.  Jack doesn’t mind, though he speaks so sharply.  When you get tired of us go out in the garden and have a romp with Jim.”

But I must return to the conversation I referred to.  It was one fine June day, and Mrs. Morris was sewing in a rocking-chair by the window.  I was beside her, sitting on a hassock, so that I could look out into the street.  Dogs love variety and excitement, and like to see what is going on out-doors as well as human beings.  A carriage drove up to the door, and a finely-dressed lady got out and came up the steps.

Mrs. Morris seemed glad to see her, and called her Mrs. Montague.  I was pleased with her, for she had some kind of perfume about her that I liked to smell.  So I went and sat on the hearth rug quite near her.

They had a little talk about things I did not understand and then the lady’s eyes fell on me.  She looked at me through a bit of glass that was hanging by a chain from her neck, and pulled away her beautiful dress lest I should touch it.

I did not care any longer for the perfume, and went away and sat very straight and stiff at Mrs. Morris’ feet.  The lady’s eyes still followed me.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morris,” she said; “but that is a very queer-looking dog you have there.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Morris, quietly; “he is not a handsome dog.”

“And he is a new one, isn’t he?” said Mrs. Montague.

“Yes.”

“And that makes—­”

“Two dogs, a cat, fifteen or twenty rabbits, a rat, about a dozen canaries, and two dozen goldfish, I don’t know how many pigeons, a few bantams, a guinea pig, and—­well, I don’t think there is anything more.”

They both laughed, and Mrs. Montague said:  “You have quite a menagerie.  My father would never allow one of his children to keep a pet animal.  He said it would make his girls rough and noisy to romp about the house with cats, and his boys would look like rowdies if they went about with dogs at their heels.”