This record of my life at Rivermouth would be strangely incomplete did I not devote an entire chapter to Gypsy.

I had other pets, of course; for what healthy boy could long exist without numerous friends in the animal kingdom?
I had two white mice that were forever gnawing their way out of a pasteboard chateau, and crawling over my face when I lay asleep.

I used to keep the pink-eyed little beggars in my bedroom, greatly to the annoyance of Miss Abigail, who was constantly fancying that one of the mice had secreted itself somewhere about her person.
I also owned a dog, a terrier, who managed in some inscrutable way to pick a quarrel with the moon, and on bright nights kept up such a ki-yi-ing in our back garden, that we were finally forced to dispose of him at private sale.

He was purchased by Mr.Oxford, the butcher.
I protested against the arrangement and ever afterwards, when we had sausages from Mr.Oxford's shop, I made believe I detected in them certain evidences that Cato had been foully dealt with.
Of birds I had no end, robins, purple-martins, wrens, bulfinches, bobolinks, ringdoves, and pigeons.

At one time I took solid comfort in the iniquitous society of a dissipated old parrot, who talked so terribly, that the Rev.Wibird Hawkins, happening to get a sample of Poll's vituperative powers, pronounced him "a benighted heathen," and advised the Captain to get rid of him.