ve, "and tell me what you
mean."

"You gives me your solemn oath, Miss, that you won't tell me to shut my
'ead?" queried Mrs. Smithers.

"Of course," returned Dorothy, trying to be practical, though the
atmosphere was sepulchral enough.

"Well, then, you knows wot I told you about that there cat. 'E was kilt by
your uncle, that's wot 'e was, and your uncle couldn't never abide cats.
'E was that feared of 'em 'e couldn't even bury 'em when they was kilt,
and one of my duties, Miss, as long as I lived with 'im, was buryin' of
cats, and until this one, I never come up with one wot couldn't stay
buried, that's wot I 'aven't.

"'E 'ated 'em like poison, that's wot 'e did. The week afore your uncle
died, he kilt this 'ere cat wot's chasin' the chickens now, and I buried
'im with my own hands, but could 'e stay buried? 'E could not. No sooner
is your uncle dead and gone than this 'ere cat comes back, and it's the
truth, Miss Carr, for where 'e was buried, there ain't no sign of a cat
now. Wot's worse, this 'ere cat looks per-cisely like your uncle, green
eyes, white shirt front, black tie and all. It's enough to give a body the
shivers to see 'im a-settin' on the kitchen floor lappin' up 'is mush and
milk, the which your uncle was so powerful fond of.

"Wot's more," continued Mrs. Smithers, in tones of awe, "I'll a'most bet
my immortal soul that if you'll dig in the cemetery where your uncle was
buried good and proper, you won't find nothin' but the empty coffin and
maybe 'is grave clothes. Your uncle's been livin' with us all along in
that there cat," she added, triumphantly. "It's 'is punishment, for 'e
couldn't never abide 'em, that's wot 'e couldn't."

Mrs. Carr opened her mouth to speak, then, remembering her promise, took
refuge in flight.

"'Er's scared," muttered Mrs. Smithers, "and no wonder. Wot with cats as
can't stay buried, writin' letters and deliverin' 'em in the dead of
night, and a purrin' like mad while blamed fools digs for eight cents,
most folks would be scared, I take it, that's wot they would."

Dorothy was pale when she went into the library where Harlan was at work.
He frowned at the interruption and Dorothy smiled back at him--it seemed
so normal and sane.

"What is it, Dorothy?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Oh--just Mrs. Smithers's nonsense. She's upset me."

"What about, dear?" Harlan put his work aside readily enough now.

"Oh, the same old story about the cat and Uncle Ebeneezer. And I'