Part 7 (2/2)

At last I convinced myself that it _was_ Teddy.

”Where did you get that cat?” I asked.

”Why, we have always had him. We raised him. He sleeps with the children every night, and gets up with them in the morning--when he is here,”

said the mother.

Our Teddy had the same weakness, and I was so positive that this was he that I called him by name.

In a moment he came to me and was on my knee--it was indeed Teddy.

Now, here was one of the most unique situations on record.

”This is my cat,” I said demandingly.

”It is ours,” said the chorus of children's voices.

It suddenly occurred to me that Teddy was in the habit of leaving home and would be absent for several days at a time. Could it be possible he had two homes? Did this cat actually accept the affections and hospitality of two distinct families, at the same time, without once breathing the truth or giving himself away?

I went home puzzled to my wife and said:

”Do you know, Teddy is not all ours?”

”What do you mean?”

I was just about to tell my strange story when I awoke, and, behold, it was a dream.

BITS OF HISTORY

Of the Foolhardy Expedition

The people who inhabited this globe during the year 1725 undoubtedly obtained a different view of things terrestrial than we do who claim the world's real estate in 1915, because they had no telegraph, no telephone, no electric light, no automobile, and no aeroplane. How they managed to live at all is a mystery to the twentieth century biped.

Fancy having to cross the street to your neighbor's house when you wanted to ask him if he was going to the pioneer supper, and just think of having no ”h.e.l.lo girl” to flirt with. The condition seems appalling.

But what they lacked in knowledge and in indolent conveniences we beg to announce that they made up in foolhardiness which they called bravery.

Well, if it can be called brave to make a needless target of oneself to a bunch of savage Indians, why then they had the proper derivation of the term.

From one of Francis Parkman's admirable works we have seized upon the scene of our story, which was acted out at the beginning of the eighteenth century, namely, 1725. The Indians seem to have been very hostile in those early days in the immediate vicinity of the early New England provinces; and we are convinced some of the white men were very hostile as well. Of course we, in our day, cannot blame them--they had no telephones, autos, electricity, ”h.e.l.lo girls”--they had to be something, so they were hostile towards the Indians.

Dunstable was a town on the firing line of Ma.s.sachusetts, and was attacked by Indians in the autumn of 1724, and two men were carried off.

Ten others went in pursuit, but fell into an ambush, and nearly all were killed. But now we will follow the words of Francis Parkman, who has a delightful way of relating his stories.

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