Shutting-up for the Night. re

Job, pouring some milk in a saucer. “How cold you looked
that September morning, after the frost, when I found you on
the edge of the ravine.”

“Miouw!” replied the Angora cat.

“ Yes, indeed,” continued Job, as he cut a slice of bread for
himself. “If you had not come to me, Tom Smithers would
have caught you, and carried you down the mountain to all his
brothers and sisters—and a nice life they would have led you.
The baby would have pulled off your tail the first thing, and
how would you have looked without your tail? There! eat
your milk.”

It really seemed as if the Angora understood every word
that Job said, for she gave a little leap in the air, purred vio-
lently, and proceeded to eat daintily. After that the cow was
made comiortable for the night, the hen-house barred securely,
so that no stray fox might steal in, and fresh wood brought
from the wood-pile for the fire. There was nothing more to
be done before going to bed, and Grandfather as well as Job
was usually asleep as soon as the chickens—but then the earli-
est cock that crowed did not catch them napping in the morn-
ing. Before closing the house door, he paused one moment to
look at the sky, which was flooded with gold from the setting
sun. Job was a very ignorant child, but he knew that far
away down the path of shining Hudson River was a great city
and the sea. This city he had never seen, which was not very
strange, since a great many grown people living back among
those Catskill Mountains were equally unlearned. It was the
last of December ; summer had faded, but the autumn had been
long and mild. The mountains towered up blue and grand