Letters from a Cat

"Where did he drown her?" I asked. "Down by the mill, in Mill Valley, where the water is very deep," answered my mother; "we told him to take her there." At these words I cried bitterly. "That's the very place I used to go with her to play," I exclaimed. "I'll never go near that bridge as long as I live, and I'll never speak a word to Cousin Josiah either--never!" My mother tried to comfort me, but it was of no use; my heart was nearly broken. When I went to breakfast, there sat my cousin Josiah, looking as unconcerned as possible, reading a newspaper. He was a student in the college, and boarded at our house. At the sight of him all my indignation and grief broke forth afresh. I began to cry again; and running up to him, I doubled up my fist and shook it in his face. "I said I'd never speak to you as long as I lived," I cried; "but I will. You're just a murderer, a real murderer; that's what you are! and when you go to be a missionary, I hope the cannibals'll eat you! I hope they'll eat you alive raw, you mean old murderer!" "Helen Maria!" said my father's voice behind me, sternly. "Helen Maria! leave the room this moment!" I went away sullenly, muttering, "I don't care, he is a murderer; and I hope he'll be drowned, if he isn't eaten! The Bible says the same measure ye mete shall be meted to you again. He ought to be drowned."