The Normal Record. March 1904

              THE NORMAL RECORD.
tain that it had gone clear through the
bone of his big toe.
The cat growled and kicked. She
scratched and bit.   She got away.
"Well, well, I declare!" softly exclaimed her baffled captor, "how can I
ever find her now? I do wish people
wouldn't keep so many pets. And that
tack—how it hurt! I shall look for tacks
on the floor in the morning. Shall I ever
get to sleep again!"
Just then the clock struck one. The
cat was not found.
'' Come, kitty, good kitty, pretty kitty,''
entreated the minister, kneeling and sawing along the floor.
"Kitty, kitty, yes, nice kitt-e-e."
He crawled, he waved his hands as he
crawled, in vain hope that he would come
up with the elusive feline. Space, space,
empty space. He stood up, waving first
one foot, then the other. He found his
own valise, stumbled over it and caught
himself. He crashed into the waste-paper
basket. Suddenly a bright thought illumined his mind. Matches! He would
light a match; yes, a whole bunch if necessary. Have that cat he must. The
matches were on the mantle. He would
try to find them. He banged the closet
door. Hush! was that a step? No, only
a twig falling on the roof. He would go
softly, now, lest he wake the sleeping
household. His foot touched something
cool, smooth and wooden—a large pail.
He concluded to step over it, and raised
his foot. Alas! for Mrs. Quick's scrubbing bucket. Plunk! swish! splash! Hor-
ors! now what was that? He stood in the
midst of floods. He tried to wade out.
this way, that way, water, water, soapy
water. Despair sat on his heart. He shivered with the cold and wavered with indecision. If he only had a match! The cat
was hidden, his feet were wet, the room
was dark and he would not call out.
He splashed and   waded    ahead.    He
found a wet mop, stepped into the middle
of it and waded on. Presently a rustle
told him that he was at the window. He
reached out and pulled the shade up.
Moonlight danced in and fell on ceiling,
wall and floor.
But what a sight! The room was littered with everything that ought to have
been standing upright and wasn't. There,
across the outside door, lay the broom. In
one corner was an over-turned cracker-
box. A small looking-glass and a goblet
lay in a hundred pieces on the floor. An
open paper of tacks, with its scattered
contents, occupied the middle of the room,
and last and worst of all, a scrubbing
bucket was behind him in the midst of the
gallon or more of lake it had once contained.
The Rev. Philander sighed. No cat was
to be seen. He left the shade up, turned
away from the chaotic past and crossed
the room. He sat down on the edge of the
bed, disconsolate, wiped his wet feet on
the corner of a quilt and crept between
the sheets once more. He heard a gentle
purring.
"Oh, that cat," thought he, "shall I
attempt it again ?''
Overcome with fatigue and cold he dozed and finally fell into a heavy sleep,
while the cat purred in sleepy contentment on top of his feet. He dreamed of
nothing but cats and woke in the morning firmly convinced that he had put them
out of doors all night.
When he went to breakfast, Mrs. Quick
noticed that her guest looked worn. She
felt it her duty to inquire how he had
rested. The new minister was not a man
to prevaricate, but he found difficulty in
extricating himself from a tangle so likely to prove unpleasant to his hostess.
"How many cats have you, sister?" he
ventured discreetly.
Mrs. Quick looked at him in wonder.
She put the coffee-pot on the rack and