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 Love me, love my cat! When was Jacob Bunting ungrateful?—augh!"

"Well, well! will you talk to Dorothy about it?"

"I shall have your consent, then? Thanks, my dear, dear Peter; 'pon my soul you're a fine fellow! you see, you're great man of the parish. If you protect her, none dare injure; if you scout her, all set upon her. For as you said, or rather sung, t'other Sunday—capital voice you were in too—

The mighty tyrants without cause Conspire her blood to shed!"

"I did not think you had so good a memory, Corporal," said Peter smiling;—the cat was now curling itself up in his lap: "after all, Jacobina—what a deuce of a name—seems gentle enough."

"Gentle as a lamb—soft as butter—kind as cream—and such a mouser!"

"But I don't think Dorothy—"

"I'll settle Dorothy."

"Well, when will you look up?"

"Come and take a dish of tay with you in half