I do not think I ever experienced a cowardly feeling afterwards; that night perfectly satisfied me that superstition was the most unreasonable torture that could be inflicted on oneself; and I was ever afterwards celebrated for my bravery.  Even my father praised my conduct, and said that it was pretty well for a girl of ten years, under such circumstances—­at the same time representing to me how much more reasonable such a course was, than screaming would have been, to rouse the household for nothing.  I went quietly to sleep, and dreamed neither of goblins nor ghosts, but of a dear little spotted kitten with a blue ribbon around its neck.

CHAPTER XI.

I did not wake very early the next morning, and when I opened my eyes, I perceived Cousin Statia standing by my bedside, who had been endeavoring to waken me.  Her manner was rather solemn as she announced that Aunt Henshaw was waiting for me to commence the morning services.  At this information I felt very much mortified; and springing quickly out of bed, I was soon dressed and in the breakfast room.  Aunt Henshaw sat with a large Bible open before her; and after kissing me kindly, she read a chapter, and then offered a short prayer.

After breakfast, Cousin Statia proceeded to wash up the cups and saucers, which she always did for fear of their being broken; Aunt Henshaw proceeded to the poultry yard, and I accompanied her.  She had a large tin pan in her hand, filled with moistened Indian meal, with which she fed the chickens; of which there seemed an endless number, both old and young.  Then we went to the barn-yard, and she showed me a young calf; but it was an awkward-looking thing, that scampered about without sense or meaning.  But I had not forgotten the kittens, and I asked Aunt Henshaw where they were.  She said that she would look; and going into the barn, we peered around, in mangers and out-of-the-way places, without the least success; and we concluded that the old cat must have hid them up in the mow.

“Perhaps Holly knows, though,” said the old lady, on noticing my disappointment, “very little escapes her eyes, and we can at least call her and see.”

Holly was called, but with not much more success than our hunt after the kittens, so we were obliged to proceed to the kitchen—­a wing on the same floor with the parlor and dining-room.  Holly was now visible, peeling apples, and evidently glad to be released from her task, she professed herself perfectly acquainted with the whereabouts of the kittens.

“But can we get them?” asked Aunt Henshaw.

“Oh yes, Missus,” replied Holly, “if you’ll only ’tice the old cat somewhere and shut her up.  She’d ‘spect suthin’ if she saw me, and there’d be no gittin’ rid of her; and if she once ketched us at the bisness, she’d scratch our very eyes out—­cats is always dreadful skeery about their kittens.”