against furniture, upsetting flower-pots, and making general havoc. Next
he rose on his hind feet and pranced around, in a frenzy of enjoyment,
with his head over his shoulder and his voice proclaiming his
unappeasable happiness. Then he went tearing around the house again
spreading chaos and destruction in his path. Aunt Polly entered in time
to see him throw a few double summersets, deliver a final mighty hurrah,
and sail through the open window, carrying the rest of the flower-pots
with him. The old lady stood petrified with astonishment, peering over
her glasses; Tom lay on the floor expiring with laughter.
Tom, what on earth ails that cat?
I don t know, aunt, gasped the boy.
Why, I never see anything like it. What did make him act so?
Deed I don t know, Aunt Polly; cats always act so when they re having a
good time.
They do, do they? There was something in the tone that made Tom
apprehensive.
Yes m. That is, I believe they do.
You _do_?
Yes m.
The old lady was bending down, Tom watching, with interest emphasized
by anxiety. Too late he divined her drift. The handle of the telltale
tea-spoon was visible under the bed-valance. Aunt Polly took it, held it
up. Tom winced, and dropped his eyes. Aunt Polly raised him by the usual
handle his ear and cracked his head soundly with her thimble.
Now, sir, what did you want to treat that poor dumb beast so, for?
I done it out of pity for him because he hadn t any aunt.
Hadn t any aunt! you numskull. What has that got to do with it?
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