are you?" She was ready to believe him a ghost.

"What am I?" repeated the boy, sluggishly. That odd giddiness was
increasing, and he scarcely knew whether he were asleep or awake. Who was
he, indeed? What had happened? Who was that young woman in front of him?
What....

"Archibald! Archie! Speak to me! Why do you look so strangely?"

"Me not know oo!" said Archie, and began to cry.

Mistress Kate turned pale, and began to back toward the door.

"Me want my Kittie!" blubbered Archie.

Kate stopped. "You want me?"

"Me want my 'ittle Kittie--my 'ittle b'indled Kittie! Dey put my Kittie in
de hole in de darden! Me want her to p'ay wiz!" And with this, and with
the tears streaming down his cheeks, poor Archie toddled forward with the
uncertain step and outstretched arms of a little child. But Kate had
already gained the door, and was running screaming across the next room,
and so down the long corridor.

Poor Archie toddled after, his baby heart filled with mourning for the
brindled cat that had been buried in the back garden seven years before.
Seven years?--or was it only yesterday?