aid. "But
the boy was obdurate. He is the victim of confused thinking--precocious
to a degree in some directions, but very childish in others. At times he
alarms me. Poor boy. You must try again to win him. The general
sentiment is that the young should be patient with the old; but for my
part I think it is quite as difficult sometimes for the old to be
patient with the young."

He turned to his desk.

"When I found my dear cat was not, I composed an epitaph for him,
Estelle. I design to have it scratched on a stone and set above his
sleeping place."

"Do let me hear it," she said, and Ernest, fired with the joy of
composition, read his memorial verse.

"Criticise freely," he said. "I value your criticism and you understand
poetry. Not that this is a poem--merely an epitaph; but it may easily be
improved, I doubt not."

He put on his glasses and read:

"'Ended his mingled joy and strife,
Here lies the dust of Peter Grim.
Though life was very kind to him,
He proved not very kind to life.'"

Estelle applauded.

"Perfect," she said. "You must have it carved on his tombstone."

"I think it meets the case. I may have been prejudiced in my affection
for him, owing to his affection for me. He came to me at the age of five
weeks, and his attitude to me from the first was devoted."

"Cats have such cajoling ways."

"He was not himself honest, yet, I think, saw the value of honesty in
others. Plain dealers are a temptation to rogues and none, as a rule, is
a better judge of an honest man than a dishonest cat."

"He wasn't quite a rogue, was he?"

"He knew that I am respected, and he traded on my reputation. His life
has been spared on more than one occasion for my sake."

"On the whole he was not a very model cat, I'm afraid," said Estelle.

"Yes, that is just what he was: a model--cat."

They went out to look at the grave again, and something hurried away
through the bushes as they did so.

"Friends, or possibly enemies," suggested Mr. Churchouse, but Estelle,
sharper-eyed, saw Abel disappear. She also noted that her bouquet of
flowers had gone from Peter's mound.

"Oh dear, he's taken away my offering," she said.

"What a hard-hearted boy! Are there no means of winning him?"

They spoke of Abel and his mother.

"We all regretted her decision to stop. It would have been better if she
had gone away."

"Raymond saw her some time ago."

"So she told me; and so did he. Misfortune seems to dog th