ever caught."
"He did for many a mouse in his day," said Peter,
anxious to pay
his
tribute to the departed.
"'He was a cat--take him for all in all. We shall not look upon
his like again,'" quoted Uncle Blair.
Felicity and Cecily and Sara Ray cried so much that Aunt Janet
lost
patience completely and told them
sharply that they would
have something to cry for some day--which did not seem to comfort
them much. The Story Girl shed no tears, though the look in her
eyes hurt more than weeping.
"After all, perhaps it's for the best," she said drearily. "I've
been feeling so badly over having to go away and leave Paddy. No
matter how kind you'd all be to him I know he'd miss me terribly.
He wasn't like most cats who don't care who comes and goes as long
as they get plenty to eat. Paddy wouldn't have been contented
without me."
"Oh, no-o-o, oh, no-o-o," wailed Sara Ray lugubriously.
Felix shot a disgusted glance at her.
"I don't see what YOU are making such a fuss about," he said
unfeelingly. "He wasn't your cat."
"But I l-l-oved him," sobbed Sara, "and I always feel bad when my
friends d-do."
"I wish we could believe that cats went to heaven, like people,"
sighed Cecily. "Do you really think it isn't possible?"
Uncle Blair shook his head.
"I'm afraid not. I'd like to think cats have a chance for heaven,
but I can't. There's nothing
heavenly about cats, delightful
creatures though they are."
"Blair, I'm really surprised to hear the things you say to the
children," said Aunt Janet severely.
"Surely you wouldn't prefer me to tell them that cats DO go to
heaven," protested Uncle Blair.
"I think it's
wicked to carry on about an animal as those children
do," answered Aunt Janet
decidedly, "and you shouldn't encourage
them. Here now, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and
get off to your apple picking."
We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any
such off-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury
him in the
orchard at
sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had
to go home, declared she would be back for it, and implored us to
wait for her if she didn't come exactly on time.
"I mayn't be able to get away till after milking," she sniffed,
"but I don't want to miss it. Even a cat's
funeral is better than
none at all."
"Horrid thing!" said Felicity,
barelywaiting until Sara was
out of earshot.
We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly
most of the time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening
drew on we began to feel a sneaking interest in the details of the
funeral. As Dan said, the thing should be done
properly, since
Paddy was no common cat. The Story Girl selected the spot for the
grave, in a little corner behind the
cherry copse, where early
violets enskied the grass in spring, and we boys dug the grave,
making it "soft and narrow," as the
heroine of the old ballad
wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in time after
all, and Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the Story
Girl kept far aloof.
"This time last night you never thought you'd be digging Pat's
grave to-night," sighed Felicity.
"We little k-know what a day will bring forth," sobbed Sara.
"I've heard the
minister say that and it is true."
"Of course it's true. It's in the Bible; but I don't think you
should repeat it in
connection with a cat," said Felicity
dubiously.
When all was in
readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through
the
orchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless
coffin enclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat
cardboard box.
"I wonder if it would be right to say 'ashes to ashes and dust to
dust,'" said Peter.
"No, it wouldn't," averred Felicity. "It would be real
wicked."
"I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway," asseverated Sara Ray.
"Well, we might do that, if it isn't a very religious one,"
conceded Felicity.
"How would 'Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore,' do?"