“Well, Mollie,” said Miss Ruth, laughing, “I was not thinking of you, but if the coat fits, you may put it on.”

“What became of Dinah at last, Miss Ruth?”

“She made a sad end, Fannie, for as she grew older her disposition got worse instead of better, until she became so cross and disagreeable that she hadn’t a friend left but me.  She would scratch and bite little children if they attempted to touch her, and was so cruel to one of her own kittens that we were raising to take her place—­for she was too old and infirm to be a good mouser—­that we were afraid she would kill the poor thing outright.  One morning, after she had made an unusually savage attack on her son Solomon, my mother said:  ’We must have that cat killed, and the sooner the better.  It isn’t safe to keep such an ugly creature a day longer.’  Dinah was apparently fast asleep on her cushion in the corner of the kitchen lounge when these words were spoken.  In a few minutes she jumped down, walked slowly across the room and out at the kitchen door, and we never saw her again.”

“Why, how queer!  What became of her?”

“We never knew.  We inquired in the neighborhood, and searched the barn and the wood-shed, and in every place we could think of where she would be likely to hide, but we could get no trace of her, and when weeks passed and she did not return we concluded that she was dead.”

“You don’t think—­do you think, Miss Ruth, that she understood what was said and knew if she stayed she would have to be killed?”

“I do,” said Mollie, positively.  “I’m sure of it!—­and so the poor thing went off and drowned herself, or, maybe, died of a broken heart.”

“Oh!” said Nellie Dimock, “poor Dinah Diamond!”

“Nonsense, Mollie!” said Susie Elliot.  “Cats don’t die of broken hearts.”

“She had been ailing for some days,” Miss Ruth explained, “refusing her food and looking forlorn and miserable, and I am inclined to think instinct taught her that her end was near.  You know wild animals creep away into some solitary place to die, and Dinah had a drop or two of wild-cat blood in her veins.  I fancy she hid herself in some hole under the barn and died there.  It was a curious coincidence, that she should have chosen that particular time, just after her doom was pronounced, to take her departure.  But what grieved me most was that, excepting myself, every member of the family rejoiced that she was dead.

“Poor Dinah Diamond!  She was beautiful and clever, and constant and brave, but she lived unloved and died unlamented because of her bad temper.”

CHAPTER IV.

A swallow-tailed butterfly.

“If I can’t have the seat I want, I won’t have any; and I think you are real mean, Mollie Elliot!  I ain’t coming here any more.”

These were the words Miss Ruth heard spoken in loud angry tones as she opened the door connecting her bedroom with the parlor, where the little girls were assembled, and caught a glimpse of an energetic figure in pink gingham running across the lawn that separated the minister’s house from his next door neighbor.