Mother Bunch still remained , and often used to go and sit sadly under the tree where her infants were buried , -- an afflicted , yet resigned parent . Her health declined , but we never had the heart to send her away , and it would n't have done any good if we had tried . We did it once , and it was a dead failure . At one time the four cats were so wearing that my honored father , who did not appreciate the dears , resolved to clear the house of the whole family ; so he packed them in a basket , and carried them `` over the hills and far away , '' like the `` Babes in the Wood . '' Coming to a lonely spot , he let them out , and returned home , much relieved in mind . Judge of his amazement when the first thing he saw was Mrs. Bunch and her children , sitting on the steps resting after their run home . We all laughed at the old gentleman so that he left them in peace , and even when the mamma alone remained , feeble and useless , her bereavement made her sacred . When we shut up the house , and went to the city for the winter , we gave Mother Bunch to the care of a kind neighbor , who promised to guard her faithfully . Returning in the spring , one of my first questions was , -- `` How is old Pussy ? '' Great was my anguish when my neighbor told me that she was no more . It seems the dear thing pined for her old home , and kept returning to it in spite of age or bad weather . Several times she was taken back when she ran away , but at last they were tired of fussing over her , and let her go . A storm came on , and when they went to see what had become of her , they found her frozen , in the old sideboard , where I first discovered her with her kits about her . As a delicate attention to me , Mrs. Bunch 's skin was preserved , and presented when the tale was told . I kept it some time , but the next Christmas I made it into muffs for several dolls , who were sent me to dress ; and very nice little muffs the pretty black fur made , lined with cherry silk , and finished off with tiny tassels . I loved the dear old puss , but I knew the moths would get her skin if I kept it , and preferred to rejoice the hearts of several small friends with dolls in full winter costume . I am sure Mrs. Bunch would have agreed with me , and not felt that I treated her remains with disrespect . The last of my cats was the blackest of all , and such a wild thing we called him the Imp . He tumbled into the garret one day through a broken scuttle , and took possession of the house from that time forth , acting as if bewitched . He got into the furnace pipes , but could not get out , and kept me up one whole night , giving him air and light , food and comfort , through a little hole in the floor , while waiting for a carpenter to come and saw him out .
He got a sad pinch in his tail , which XXXXX it crooked forever after .
Returning finished gave giving got made presented ran scuttle tried