Old Brownsmith

For that boy's master, who was called Brownsmith, was a great man for
cats; and whenever he went down his garden there were always six or
eight blacks, and black and whites, and tabbies, and tortoise-shells
running on before or behind him. When he stopped, first one and then
another would have a rub against his leg, beginning with the point of
its nose, and running itself along right to the end of its tail,
crossing over and having a rub on the other side against the other leg.

So sure as one cat had a rub all the others that could get a chance had
a rub as well. Then perhaps their master would stoop down with his
knife in his teeth, and take a piece of bast from his pocket, to tie up
a flower or a lettuce, when one of the cats was sure to jump on his
back, and stop there till he rose, when sometimes it would go on and sit
upon his shoulder, more often jump off.

It used to interest me a good deal to watch old Brownsmith and his cats,
for I had never known that a cat would run after any one out of doors
like a dog. Then, too, they were so full of fun, chasing each other
through the bushes, crouching down with their tails writhing from side
to side, ready to spring out at their master, or dash off again up the
side of a big tree, and look down at him from high upon some branch.