12 The Catskill Fazirtes.

“You are twelve years old, and almost a man! Well—take
care of the cow, and don’t forget the fowls. I shall be back by
noon, mebbe.”

Then the old wagon creaked away down the hill, moving as
if it had rheumatism in all its joints, the white horses jogged off
soberly, the rim of Grandfather's hat disappeared, and Job was
left alone.

The boy was half afraid all the same. There was not a living
soul left on the mountain besides Job, after Grandfather had
gone. When one is only twelve years old, and is left in this
way, one must feel rather queer at first—at least Job did, and
that is all we can know about it. He stood in the road until
the last sound of the wagon had died away in silence, and at
that moment a little shiver of loneliness crept down his back,
and he did not know whether to laugh or cry. Something
white and soft brushed against him; it was the Angora cat.
You must not suppose that she was an every-day sort of tabby,
such as is found in all farm-houses: she was very different from
common animals, as we shall presently see. At that moment
the cow lowed in her shed, in a friendly way. Job laughed in-
stead of crying.

“He’s gone,” said the lad aloud. “Now, Kitty, let us have
our supper.”

He decided to prepare the evening meal just because he did
not know what else to do. The cat was placed in a chair,
while he spread the board; and as her table manners were very
elegant, she merely sat there winking sleepily instead of trying
to dab her paws into the dishes.

“This is better than living in the woods—isn’t it, puss,” said