We had two cats, Peter
and Petrine. Peter, also called Peter the Great, who might have been
mistaken for a young jaguar, was his special pet, and when this
beautiful animal followed him, purring, into the pantry, and he always
followed, there was no end to the dainty morsels given him. The best
was none too good. This wanton waste made the Schroeder girl, faithful
soul that she was, fly into a rage, for she often saw her plans for
dinner completely upset.
In the house she was indeed a treasure, but for us children,
especially me, she was even more than that, she was a real blessing.
The training we received from our parents advanced by fits and starts;
sometimes there was training and again there was none, and never any
thought of continuity. But the Schroeder girl supplied the continuity.
She had no favorites, never allowed herself to be outwitted, and knew
just how to handle each one of us. As for me, she knew that I was
good-natured, but sensitive, proud, and under the control of a certain
degree of megalomania. These bad inclinations she wished to hold in
check, and so said to me times without number: "Yes, you think you are
a marvelous fellow, but you are only a childish boy, just like the
rest of them, only at times a bit worse. You always want to play the
young gentleman, but young gentlemen don't lick honey from their
plates, or at least don't deny it if they have done so, in fact they
never tell lies. Not long ago I heard you prating about honor, but I
want to tell you, _that_ doesn't look to me like honor.
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