I confessed before that I have no affection
for what is strange; but, somehow, by degrees
the cap in question grew more familiar to me
than I thought likely at first. It began to have
a good, honest, dashing, soldier-like expression
about it; still I did not think it worth
the coil my silly Katie made. Perhaps if the
poor Cottage had had more influence than
could be expected from a sick room, or if the
Beaver had not made itself more than usually
grim on the occasion, or if Harry's conduct
had been a little more uniform towards the
foraging cap (I mean no pun, for I hope I
am incapable of such a thing), and had not
shown quite such lofty irritation when it took
to hanging about Katie's black feathers, with
which nothing in Harry' sight could compare;
above all, perhaps, if dear old William,
with his clear sight, his gentle heart, and
persuasive firmness, had been at hand, Katie
might have been inclined to listen to reason.
However, as it was, the oftener the foraging
cap was ordered off the branch, the nearer
Katie's black plume waved menacingly by it,
looking as ferocious, on a small scale, as the
famous plume of feathers on the helmet that
came plump into the famous Castle of Otranto.
There did come a day, however, when I missed
the cap, and in its stead hung a beautiful little
riding whip, with a motto in gold letters
round the handle—old English letters. I
believe I rose greatly in the estimation of my old
friend, for reading the motto off so easily; he
knew it by heart, he said, and so did Katie;
she always repeated it aloud to him, when
she took it down every day, and sometimes
twice a day.

"No force can move
Affixed Love."

As for Beaver, she had puzzled over it for
ever; and could not make it out. The whip
was seldom out of Katie's hand; but, pretty
as it was, the wilful child actually preferred
the cap. There was a great deal of wet
weather about that time, which I suppose
caused my favorite's feathers to droop like
weeping willows, so that I could scarcely
bear to see them. But, I was obliged to bear
it often enough, I can tell you; they would
come nodding into my very study, in the
middle of a quiet morning; they would come
to luncheon, and to walk, without the slightest
encouragement on my part; and actually one
wild autumn night, when the curtains were
drawn, and the fire made up, and I was sitting
in false security with my glass of negus, and a
new periodical; what should come dripping in,
but that everlasting plume! Much ado I
had to get rid of it at all, or to induce it to
hang itself up on its own legitimate Hatstand,
that night; for, it had half a mind to
spread its wild feathers and fly. Ah, Katie,
Katie, the dark rainy walk, too, we had of it!
You so provokingly holding out your ungloved
hand to see if it rained, in answer to my
lamentations, and both of us wet to the skin! I
spoke out to you, Katie; but what was the
use? The only answers you gave me, were, "But
I don't care for what they say, dear Growler."
(that was my name at the Chase, and Katie
was my godmother), "and I can't help it
if people will be ill-natured, and I am much
too unhappy to care about that sort of
thing; and I love him." But the darling
did care too. She did care very much
when words passed between her and Harry
for the first time in their lives. She did
care when the Beaver went into the sick
room to make grim mischief; and she did
care when Growler, the present writer, looked
really grave at last, and showed he plainly
did not approve!

Just about this time, there arrived, and
hooked itself on to an arm of my Mahogany
Friend, at first so low that it used to get dusty,
and then, by degrees, creeping nearer to the
Beaver than any living hat (so to speak) had
ever dared approach before, a species of
sleek, damp, broad-brimmed nondescript. It
had a sort of shy, squinting way of looking
downwards, and yet, at the same time,
inclining upwards in the direction of the
Beaver. At last, oh joyful day, in our calendar
at the Chase! it walked off with the Beaver,
and never came back!

I shall never forget the long breath my
Mahogany Friend drew, on that delicious
occasion. "I feel as young and as buoyant,
Mr. Mum", said he, "as on the day I was
first put up. One wink, sir, from the old
stick and fishing-rod, standing yonder, would
send me whirling round the ball in a polka.
What do you think the housekeeper said to
Katie, in my hearing?—"Well, to be sure,
Miss, here's a pretty business, for to think
as your aunt should have been and gone and
got married to Sly-boots, and we who put up
with her so long, for her money, to be cheated
after all!" 'I would never have put up with
her', said Katie, with a cheek like those
mountain-ash berries over the old fire-place.
'I don't want her money. I hate the very
sound of money. I never knew a person who
was worth caring for, that had any money!'
And up she bounces to my side, Mr. Mum,
and tears off her hat, with very little respect
for my feelings, I can tell you".

Little traitress, thought I to myself, when
the Stand had done talking, I have half a
mind to rush home and write a codicil! But,
on the whole, I didn't. And not long after
Beaver's departure (Katie always would say
Aunt's elopement) what should hang itself in
that very place, for weeks together, but
Growler's identical hat—mine—Mr. Mum's!
I can see Katie now, on tip-toe, with her arm
embracing my Mahogany Friend, spinning
and twisting my hat round and round, till I
verily thought the brim and crown would
part company. But, even if they had, it
would have been good repayment to hear the
child's merry laugh again, which had been
hushed so long; and, after all, she gave me