Miss Tibby's head, and tail, and ears,
Into this quiet station
Are drawn, and not a hair appears
To common observation.
At length the lady took her hat,—
And how they all did stare
And laugh to see a sleeping cat
So snugly nestled there.
Six years rolled smoothly like the first,
From every evil free,
And many a kitten had she nurs'd
The prettiest that could be.
A most unusual sound one night
Was heard, and Tib thereby
Was roused at once from slumbers light,
To hear a baby cry!
No sound like this had met her ears
Within that ancient dome
In all the many quiet years
That this had been her home.
Straight up the stairway did she spring,
And there beheld the elf,—
A cunning, little, helpless thing,
No bigger than herself.
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