STOP THIEF.
I must tell you about my cat Posy, and the sound drubbing she got the other day. Miss Posy had eaten a hearty breakfast, but, like a little glutton, wanted more. What should she do, but go into the garden and seat herself near a peach tree, in which there was a marten-box. The birds were busy feeding their little ones, and as long as they were about, Posy hid under a rose-bush, but soon the old birds flew away, and then was her chance. Looking around to see if anybody was on the watch, she crept up the tree.
Jumping on the top of the box, she put her paw into the hole to feel for a young bird. Suddenly there was the greatest chatter I ever heard—the old birds had come back and caught the thief. But they could not make pussy stir. Then the father bird flew to a big marten-box on the top of the stable, and in a few moments came back with all the other martens. They pounced upon Posy, and pecked her until she was glad to run down the tree and hide under my skirt.
I don’t think she will want a bird lunch again very soon. If she does, I think she will go without it rather than venture again to the martens’ home. But kitty only did what bad boys often do, who know the difference between right and wrong.
MISS POSY.
MISS POSY.
MISS POSY.