This
boy spent his time tormenting anything or anybody who was unable to resist
him--old men, sick people, little children, and especially dumb animals.
One cold day in December Paula and I were walking slowly along the street,
studying our lessons as we walked. Suddenly we heard the piercing cries of
a cat in distress. Paula, always touched by suffering of any kind, stopped
to listen. Louder came the cries of the cat.
"Mee-ow, mee-ow."
Paula threw her grammar on a road-side bench. "Poor little thing," I cried,
"we can't help him, for I can't see where he can possibly be."
"Well, I can't stop here," said Paula. "Come along, we'll soon find him."
We ran over to the canal which ran along a few feet below the avenue.
Suddenly I was afraid!
"Perhaps Joseph, the Breton's son, is mixed up in this!" I said trembling.
"Come along anyway, unless you want me to go alone," Paula said quietly. So
I followed her.
Sure enough, it was the Breton's son surrounded by a dozen ragamuffins of
his own set. They took no notice of us. He had a beautiful black cat, that
had a string tied to its hind legs. The boy was swinging it around his head
and at times ducking it in the canal while his companions danced around him
with delight.
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