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It doesn't seem to me that she will ever grow up; she is such a little puss, always absent-minded, with a book in her hand. And she can't mend or sew or even make cake or clear up a room neatly. We spoil her, mother and I, as much as she spoils her kitten, Pusheen. Did you know that pusheen is Irish for puss? Mr. Holmes told us. I do believe he knows everything."
But Pusheen turned away her head with a gesture which signified, "Candy isn't fit to touch. I'd eat a mouse with you, with pleasure." "Talk," said Dotty; "say 'thank you, Pusheen! No, indeed, you needn't do it; I's just in fun. God didn't give you any teef to talk with, Pussy; so you can't talk." "Now, Dotty, this next letter is D." "O, Prudy, I wish you'd hush! I've got the earache."
Dotty tucked in the kitty's tail, and drew the carriage about the room, to give "Pusheen" an airing. "Pusheen" was her kitty's name in Irish. "You can't think how dreadful it is, Dotty, to grow up and not know anything!" Dotty turned a short corner. Pusheen had a fall; down came the little cab, kitty and all. "To grow up and not know anything," continued Prudy.
"Prudy," she said, "was a natural lady: the other two were romps." The next Monday Mrs. Parlin and the three children started for Willow-brook. Dotty wished to take her sweet Pusheen and her darling Zip; but it was decided that Pusheen must stay at home, and help keep house.
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