under the boughs of a shrub, I saw the hundred-and-fourth cat, sorriest
of them all. It was a newcomer she told me, and shy. Shy it certainly
was, poor wretch; it glowered upon me from under the branches like a bad
conscience. Shyness could not hide hunger--I never saw hungrier eyes
than hers--but it could hold it in check: the silkiest speech could not
tempt her out, and when we threw pieces she only winced! What was to be
done next was my work. Plain duty called me to scale the ditch with some
of those dripping, slippery, nameless cates [Footnote: Cates: viands;
things to eat. Why "slippery"? Nameless. What are they called in the
third sentence from the end of the paragraph?] in my fingers and to
approach the stranger where she lurked bodeful under her tree. My
passage toward her lay over the rank vegetation of the garth, in whose
coarse herbage here and there I stumbled upon a limp white form
stretched out--a waif the less in the world! I don't say it was a happy
passage for me: it was made to the visible consternation of her I wished
to befriend. Her piteous yellow eyes searched mine for sympathy; she
wanted to tell me something and I wouldn't understand! As I neared her
she shivered and mewed twice. Then she limped painfully off--poor soul,
she had but three feet!--to another tree, leaving behind her,
unwillingly enough, a much-licked dead kitten. That was what she wanted
to tell, then. As I was there, I deposited the garbage by the side of
the little corpse, knowing she would resume her watch, and retired. My
friend who had put up her parcels was prepared to go. She thanked me
with a smile as she went out, looking carefully round lest she had
missed out some other night-birds.

One of the Canons had come out of his door and was leaning against the
lintel, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. He was a spare dry man who seemed
to have measured life and found it childish business. He jerked his head
toward the gateway as he glanced at me. "That is a good woman," he said