BY ANNIE W. McCULLOUGH

I wonder what you’re thinking of, my darling little cat.
It may be meat, it may be cream, that makes you nice and fat;
It may be all the fun you have in barn-loft warm and dry;
It may be mice you try to catch as by their hole you lie.

Perhaps you think of trees to climb, with birds that sing up there,
They always get away from you, although you creep with care.
Perhaps you think of warm, green grass, and basking in the sun,
Or of your ball, that slides so fast as after it you run.

I hope you think of me, sometimes, because I love you well;
I hope you love me back again, although you cannot tell;
And how I know you’re thinking (it’s a secret that I’ve found),
Is ’cause I hear, close to my ear, your thought-wheels going round.

THE SMALL GRAY MOUSE

BY NATHAN HASKELL DOLE

The small gray Mouse ran East
And the small gray Mouse ran West
And could not tell in the least
Which way was best.

The small gray Mouse ran North
And the small gray Mouse ran South
And scurried back and forth
To escape the Kitten’s dreadful teeth-lined mouth!

But Kitty thought it precious fun
To see the panting Mousie run,
And when it almost got away
Her furry paw upon its back would lay.

But Kitty grew too vain and sure;
She thought she had the Mouse secure;
She turned her head, she shut her eyes.
That was not wise,
And ere she knew
The gray Mouse up the chimney flew,
Where dainty cats could not pursue.
So she had nothing else to do
But miew—oo—oo—!