"Do you know any one who wants a kitten?" shouted Maisie.

Old Sally laid down the trumpet and turned to Anne, who as usual sat at
her elbow in her lilac sun-bonnet and coarse apron.

"Warn't our Eliza talking of cats last time she was over?" she asked.

Anne nodded.

"Who's Eliza?" inquired Dennis.

"Why, sure you know our Eliza, Master Dennis," said old Sally. "Her as
married the tinsmith, and went to live in Upwell town. Eliza's my
youngest darter but two. Don't you mind her wedding?"

"Lor, mother!" said Anne, "Master Dennis and Miss Maisie warn't living
at Fieldside then. It's a good twelve years ago.--Mother forgets things
like that," she added aside to the children, "though she's a wonderful
memory for ancient things."

"Would it be a good home, do you think?" said Maisie to Dennis in a low
tone.

"Is your daughter Eliza a kind woman?" shouted Dennis down the trumpet.

Old Sally dropped her trumpet and raised both her withered hands on
high.

"Kind! Master Dennis. Eliza's downright silly about dumb animals. She
always was from a gal."

"We don't want her to be silly," said Dennis, "but we do want her to be
kind, because we've promised Aunt Katharine to find a good home."

Both old Sally and Anne were full of assurances as to Eliza's kindness
and the comforts which would surround the grey kitten in her house.
Certainly it would have to catch mice, but that, they declared, was a
pleasure to a cat, and could not be called hard work. So after a little
consultation it was settled that the kitten should be brought to old
Sally's, and that Eliza should take it back to Upwell the very next time
she came over to see her mother. The grey kitten had a home at last.
This arrangement made, Dennis got up briskly, with a business-like air.

"I'm going to see Tuvvy now," he said. "I'll come back for you
presently, Maisie;" and he was almost out of the door before he was
stopped by a call from Anne.

"You'll not find him to-day, Master Dennis," she said. "He's not at
work."

"Not at work!" repeated Dennis, turning round with a downcast face.
"Why isn't he at work? Is he ill?"

Old Sally had been screwing up her lips and shaking her head solemnly
ever since Tuvvy's name had been mentioned. At Dennis's question her
face looked full of dark meaning.

"Worse nor that," she said. "He's had a bout. He'll do it once too
often, and get sacked. He can't expect Master Andrew to put up with
it."

"