Suddenly, as we came upon an open space, we heard a faint cry, and observed a black animal standing in the track before us.
"A wild-cat!" cried Jack, fitting an arrow to his bow, and discharging it so hastily that he missed the animal, and hit the earth about half a foot to one side of it.

To our surprise the wild-cat did not fly, but walked slowly towards the arrow, and snuffed at it.
"That's the most comical wild-cat I ever saw!" cried Jack.
"It's a tame wild-cat, I think," said Peterkin, levelling his spear to make a charge.
"Stop!" cried I, laying my hand on his shoulder; "I do believe the poor beast is blind.

See, it strikes against the branches as it walks along.
It must be a very old one;" and I hastened towards it.
"Only think," said Peterkin, with a suppressed laugh, "of a superannuated wild-cat!" We now found that the poor cat was not only blind, or nearly so, but extremely deaf, as it did not hear our footsteps until we were quite close behind it.

Then it sprang round, and, putting up its back and tail, while the black hair stood all on end, uttered a hoarse mew and a fuff.
"Poor thing," said Peterkin, gently extending his hand, and endeavouring to pat the cat's head.

"Poor pussy; chee, chee, chee; puss, puss, puss; cheetie pussy!" No sooner did the cat hear these sounds than all signs of anger fled, and, advancing eagerly to Peterkin, it allowed itself to be stroked, and rubbed itself against his legs, purring loudly all the time, and showing every symptom of the most extreme delight.
"It's no more a wild cat than I am!" cried Peterkin, taking it in his arms.