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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?"




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