his lessons with an almost cheerful air.

After lunch they rode to Great Deeping to discuss with Ellen the matter
of selling their kittens. She had been their nurse for the first four
years of their stay at Colet House; and she had left them to marry a
small farmer. She had an affection for them, especially for the
Terror; and she had not lost touch with them. She welcomed them
warmly, ushered them into her little parlor, brought in a decanter of
elderberry wine and a cake. When she had helped them to cake and
poured out their wine, the Terror broached the matter that had brought
them to her house.

Ellen's mind ran firmly and unswerving in the groove of butter and eggs
and poultry, which she carried every market-day to Rowington in her
pony-cart. She laughed consumedly at the Terror's belief that any one
would want to buy kittens. But unmoved by her open incredulity, he was
very patient with her and persuaded her to try, at any rate, to sell
their kittens at her stall in Rowington market. Ellen consented to
make the attempt, for she had always found it difficult to resist the
Terror when he had set his mind on a thing, and she was eager to oblige
him; but she held out no hopes of success.

The Terror came away content, since he had gained his end, and did not
share her despondency. Erebus, on the other hand, infected by Ellen's
pessimism, rode in a gloomy depression.

Presently her face brightened; and with an air of inspiration she said:
"I tell you what: even if we don't sell those kittens, we can always
buy the stole. There's all that cats' home money in the bank. We can
take as much of it as we want, and pay it back by degrees."

"No, we can't," said the Terror firmly. "We're not going to use that
money for anything but the cats' home. I promised Mum I wouldn't.
Besides, she'd like the stole ever so much better if we'd really earned
it ourselves."

"But we shan't," said Erebus gloomily. "If we sold all the kittens, it
will only make twenty-three shillings."

"Then we must find something else to sell," said the Terror with
decision.

His mind was running on this line, when a quarter of a mile from Little
Deeping they came upon Tom Cobb leaning over a gate surveying a field
of mangel-wurzel with vacant amiability.

Tom Cobb was the one villager they respected; and he and they were very
good friends. Carping souls often said that Tom Cobb had never done an
honest day's work in his life. Yet