“‘Oh, my kitten! my kitten!’ I screamed.  ’She’s burning to death!  Catch her!  Catch her!  Put her out!  Throw cold water on her!  Oh, my poor, poor Dinah!’ and I began a wild chase in the darkness, weeping and wailing as I ran.  The entire family joined in the pursuit.  We tumbled over chairs and footstools.  We ran into each other, and I remember my brother Charlie and I bumped our heads together with a dreadful crash, but I think neither of us felt any pain.  They called out to each other in the most excited tones:  ’Head her off there!  Corner her!  You’ve got her!  No, you haven’t!  There she goes!  Catch her!  Catch her!’ while I kept up a wailing accompaniment, ’Oh, my poor, precious Dinah! my burned up Dinah Diamond,’ etc.

“Well, my mother caught her at last in her apron and rolled her in the hearth rug till every vestige of fire was extinguished and then laid her in my lap.

“Don’t laugh, Mollie,” said tenderhearted Nellie Dimock—­“please don’t laugh.  I think it was dreadful.  O Miss Ruth, was the poor little thing dead?”

“No, indeed, Nellie; and, wonderful to relate, she was very little hurt.  We supposed her fine thick coat kept the fire from reaching her body, for we could discover no burns.  Her tongue was blistered where she had lapped the flame, and in her wild flight she had lamed one of her paws.  Of course her beauty was gone, and for a few weeks she was that deplorable looking object—­a singed cat.  But oh, what tears of joy I shed over her, and how I dosed her with catnip tea, and bathed her paw with arnica, and nursed and petted her till she was quite well again!  My little brother Walter ("That was my papa, you know,” Mollie whispered to her neighbor), who was only three years old, would stand by me while I was tending her, his chubby face twisted into a comical expression of sympathy, and say in pitying tones:  ’There! there! poo-ittle Dinah!  I know all about it.  How oo must huffer’ (suffer).  The dear little fellow had burned his finger not long before and remembered the smart.

“I am sorry to say that the invalid received his expressions of sympathy in a very ungracious manner, spitting at him notwithstanding her sore tongue, and showing her claws in a threatening way if he tried to touch her.  As fond as I was of Dinah, I was soon obliged to admit that she had an unamiable disposition.”

“Why, Miss Ruth, how funny!” said Ann Eliza Jones.  “I didn’t know there was any difference in cats’ dispositions.”

“Indeed there is,” Miss Ruth answered:  “quite as much as in the dispositions of children, as any one will tell you who has raised a family of kittens.  Well, Dinah made a quick recovery, and when her new coat was grown it was blacker and more silky than the old one.  She was a handsome cat, not large, but beautifully formed, with a bright, intelligent face and great yellow eyes that changed color in different lights.  She was devoted to me, and would let no one else touch her if she could help it, but allowed me to handle her as I pleased.  I have tucked her in my pocket many a time when I went of an errand, and once I carried her to the prayer-meeting in my mother’s muff.  But she made a serious disturbance in the midst of the service by giving chase to a mouse, and I never repeated the experiment.