rs use, the instincts
of the old-time car-boy coming back to him in his present confusion
of mind. He changed his pipe and his knife--a huge jackknife with a
yellowed bone handle--to the pockets of his overalls.

Then at last he stood with his hand on the door, holding up the lamp
before blowing it out, looking about to make sure he was ready to go.
The wavering light woke his canary. It stirred and began to chitter
feebly, very sleepy and cross at being awakened. McTeague started,
staring at it, and reflecting. He believed that it would be a long
time before anyone came into that room again. The canary would be days
without food; it was likely it would starve, would die there, hour by
hour, in its little gilt prison. McTeague resolved to take it with him.
He took down the cage, touching it gently with his enormous hands, and
tied a couple of sacks about it to shelter the little bird from the
sharp night wind.

Then he went out, locking all the doors behind him, and turned toward
the ferry slips. The boats had ceased running hours ago, but he told
himself that by waiting till four o'clock he could get across the bay on
the tug that took over the morning papers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Trina lay unconscious, just as she had fallen under the last of
McTeague's blows, her body twitching with an occasional hiccough that
stirred the pool of blood in which she lay face downward. Towards
morning she died with a rapid series of hiccoughs that sounded like a
piece of clockwork running down.

The thing had been done in the cloakroom where the kindergarten children
hung their hats and coats. There was no other entrance except by going
through the main schoolroom. McTeague going out had shut the door of
the cloakroom, but had left the street door open; so when the children
arrived in the morning, they entered as usual.

About half-past eight, two or three five-year-olds, one a little colored
girl, came into the schoolroom of the kindergarten with a great chatter
of voices, going across to the cloakroom to hang up their hats and coats
as they had been taught.

Half way across the room one of them stopped and put her small nose
in the air, crying, "Um-o-o, what a funnee smell!" The others began to
sniff the air as well, and one, the daughter of a butcher, exclaimed,
"'Tsmells like my pa's shop," adding in the next breath, "Look, what's
the matter with the kittee?"

In fact, the cat was acting strangely. He lay quite fla