Father Uria always had his table set with as much variety and luxury as
his meagre salary, and the resources of the mission, allowed. He was not
a hearty eater, nor, as we have said, did he drink largely of wine,
unless he had the support of congenial company, but he insisted on
variety. His vegetable garden was his pride, and the object of extremist
solicitude. In it he had, in flourishing condition, every sort of
edible, including, as well, the fruits especially adapted to that
climate. As he was seldom favored with guests, he had made it a custom
to have his pet cats bear him company at his meals; and he had trained
them so well that they were, in general, as perfectly behaved, in their
limited capacity, as the best mannered human being; only occasionally,
when hunger gained the upper hand, did they break the bounds of
cat-decorum. They had their places opposite the Father, in two chairs,
two cats, side by side, in each chair; and there they would sit, looking
with meek but hungry eyes, first at the Father, then at the meat and
cream destined for their repast.
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