Even
after the chicken was grown and had chickens of her own they seldom met in
their promenades about the place that Juno did not pause to rub her head
affectionately against the neck of the orphan that she had brought up.
* * * * *
Juno was about a year older, I think, when there was a death in her
family. The one little kitten that she loved with all her mother heart
died and left her desolate. It was a very sad occasion, I remember, but we
had a great funeral. We dug the grave at the end of the garden. Johnny's
express wagon was the hearse, and Johnny drew it, and was very serious
indeed. We borrowed Mrs. Martin's baby carriage, and that was the mourning
coach. Juno rode in it, with Ned and Gimps walking one on each side and
holding her in. I pushed the coach, while a long procession of the
neighbors' children came behind, crying with all their might. We sung a
hymn at the grave, and did everything we could to soothe Juno's grief.
But Juno would not be reconciled. She drooped around and mewed so
pitifully for several days that we could not endure it; so we went to a
neighbor's cat that had more kittens than she needed, and borrowed one of
them for Juno.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73