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All white like Baby's knitted shoes, held up for illustration. The children see Pussy picking her dainty way through the soft snow with little shivers of cold, and little shakings of her paw at the chilliness of her new foot-gear, just as they see her making her careful toilet in this bit of rhyme equally familiar to their nurseries.

I wonder why the French cat is always "he," and the English cat is almost always "she," even when confessedly a Tom. I have heard of college cats, grave Fellows of Baliol and Magdalen, who deeply resented being called "she" by feminine visitors, unaware apparently of the laws which govern such institutions. But in the French nurseries, no insult is ever offered to masculinity.

"Il était une bergère,

Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon,

II était une bergère

Qui gardait ses moutons,

Ron, ron,

Qui gardait ses moutons.