The old watchman promised to try to find the owner of the kitten, at the same time advising our hero either to tell Mrs. Walters the truth, or bring the little animal to his house, as his wife, he said, “had quite a fancy for four-footed pets.”

William, however, could not at once decide to part with his new acquaintance, since he felt certain that in either case parting must be the consequence.  His indecision, however, was attended with a more speedy result than he anticipated, and not less painful than sudden.  He had kept the kitten a few days, but in those few days he had learned to love the little thing dearly.  Its graceful gambols amused him; and whatever might have been the kind of home from which it had strayed, it certainly showed itself as happy in the boy’s rude garret-room as it could have been anywhere.  As every day increased his attachment for the playful creature, so every day made the duty of telling Mrs. Walters of its presence or giving it to Mrs. Burton the harder.  He had at length nearly resolved to do the latter, when an incident occurred which showed him how necessary it was always to be prompt in the discharge of duty.

One day Mrs. Walters had occasion to search for something in an old chest which stood in William’s room; and the poor kitten, never dreaming what an enemy was near, crept forth from its hiding-place in the bed, and began fearlessly to gambol around one who had no kindly sympathies to awaken.  As she looked round to see if she could discover from whence the intruder came, she espied, in a corner, the old bowl still half full of milk, and a few crumbs of bread beside it, and was at once assured that William had brought the cat from some place—­thus outraging her authority and braving her prejudices.

There was but one course for a nature like hers to pursue.  She saw no beauty in the graceful limbs, neither had she any respect for the mysterious principle of life—­that gift which none but the great Creator can bestow, and cared not how recklessly she destroyed it.  Burning with anger against our hero, she snatched up the unconscious kitten and descended to the shop, where, finding no one but Taylor and the object of her present wrath, she poured out a volley of reproaches with a rapidity which excluded all possibility of being answered.

Both were too much startled to attempt to speak; indeed there was but little time allowed, for, even during the first ebullition of fury, she advanced to the open door and flung the unhappy kitten as far as she could into the street.  This seemed to satisfy her, for she at once left the shop, and very soon after was seen going down the street.