bewitched him this time for she's been away for months, nobody
knows where."

"If he could only TELL us where he feels the worst!" said Cecily
piteously. "It's so dreadful to see him suffering and not be able
to do a single thing to help him!"

"I don't think he's suffering much now," I said comfortingly.

The Story Girl said nothing. She passed and repassed her long
brown hand gently over her pet's glossy fur. Pat lifted his head
and essayed to creep a little nearer to his beloved mistress. The
Story Girl drew his limp body close in her arms. There was a
plaintive little mew--a long quiver--and Paddy's friendly soul had
fared forth to wherever it is that good cats go.

"Well, he's gone," said Dan, turning his back abruptly to us.

"It doesn't seem as if it can be true," sobbed Cecily. "This time
yesterday morning he was full of life."

"He drank two full saucers of cream," moaned Felicity, "and I saw
him catch a mouse in the evening. Maybe it was the last one he
ever caught."

"He did for many a mouse in his day," said Peter, anxious to pay
his tribute to the departed.

"'He was a cat--take him for all in all. We shall not look upon
his like again,'" quoted Uncle Blair.