It 's next thing to giving life . There 's some turrible thoughtless people in the world , Mistress Blythe . Some of them city folks who have summer homes over the harbor are so thoughtless that they 're cruel . It 's the worst kind of cruelty -- the thoughtless kind . You ca n't cope with it . They keep cats there in the summer , and feed and pet 'em , and doll 'em up with ribbons and collars . And then in the fall they go off and leave 'em to starve or freeze . It makes my blood boil , Mistress Blythe . One day last winter I found a poor old mother cat dead on the shore , lying against the skin-and-bone bodies of her three little kittens . She 'd died trying to shelter 'em . She had her poor stiff paws around 'em . Master , I cried . Then I swore . Then I carried them poor little kittens home and fed 'em up and found good homes for 'em . I knew the woman who left the cat and when she come back this summer I jest went over the harbor and told her my opinion of her . It was rank meddling , but I do love meddling in a good cause . '' `` How did she take it ? '' asked Gilbert . `` Cried and said she ` did n't think . ' I says to her , says I , ` Do you s ` pose that 'll be held for a good excuse in the day of Jedgment , when you 'll have to account for that poor old mother 's life ?
The Lord 'll ask you what He give you your brains for if it was n't to XXXXX , I reckon . '
Do carried go keep knew lying makes says swore think