r with a triumphant flourish.

Pringle was Aunt Katharine's maid. It was most tiresome of her to come
just now, for Maisie felt she might really be on the track of the lost
kitten at last. She knew, however, that she must not stay any longer,
and keep the doctor from the enjoyment of his dinner, so with a little
sigh she slid off her chair, and held out her band to say good-bye.

"And if I were you, Miss Maisie," were the doctor's parting words, as he
followed her out to the door, and folded the big cloak carefully round
her, "I should just go over to Upwell, and have a look at that kitten
one day. You'd leave it with Becky, wouldn't you, if it does turn out
to be yours?"

Maisie's eyes were bright, and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Of course we should," she said; "that is, if old Sally's Eliza doesn't
mind, and it's a really good home."

The doctor lingered so long in the porch looking after his little guest
as she hurried up the wet road by Pringle's side, that Mrs Budget
replaced the cover with a hasty crash.

"There's no credit in cooking for him, none at all," she muttered.

As for Maisie, she would have liked wings to fly back to Fieldside with
this wonderful news, but she had to restrain her impatience and keep
pace with Pringle, who held the umbrella and took mincing steps through
the mud.

The way seemed endless, and when she did arrive, it was disappointing to
find that Aunt Katharine would not be home till late in the evening.
There was therefore only Dennis to whom she could pour out the story of
Tuvvy's little daughter, and her hopes and fears about the grey kitten.
He was interested and impressed at first, but very soon ready to dismiss
the subject and return to the one which really filled his mind--the
painting of the jackdaws' house.

"Only fancy," said Maisie, breaking out again for the twentieth time, as
the children sat at dinner, "if it should be our dear little grey kitten
who we thought was dead. Wouldn't it be lovely?"

"Yes," said Dennis absently. Then, after a moment's pause: "What colour
had we better paint it?"

"Paint it!" repeated Maisie vaguely; but meeting a look of scorn from
Dennis, she hastily added: "Oh, you mean the jackdaws' house; but you
_are_ pleased about the kitten, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," answered Dennis rather impatiently, "but that's only a
chance, you see. If it is the kitten, it is; and if it isn't, it isn't.
But the jackdaws' house is a