Old Bose lay down on the mat before the door, and the cat had the warm hearth all to herself. If any late wanderer had looked in at midnight, he would have seen the fire blazing up again, and in the cheerful glow the old cat blinking her yellow eyes, as she sat bolt upright beside the spinning whell, like some sort of household goblin guarding the children while they slept.
L.M. Alcott
