most of them were to be found. Matches tried to follow us, but Sim
drove her back, and the last I saw of her she was under the table,
whimpering. It was a soft little complaining cry she had, almost like
the chirp of a sleepy bird, and when she made it her mouth drew up
into a pitiful little pucker.

I slept in the laundry that night, for it was after dark when we got
home, and the boys were not allowed to carry a light up into the
attic. Next day, when Stuart took me back to my room, there lay
Matches, stretched out on the floor as dead as a mummy. The tobacco
had poisoned her. Phil was crying over her as if his heart would
break. He didn't know what had killed her, and the boys did not see
fit to tell. As for me, I remembered my lesson, never to say any more
than I ought to say, and discreetly folded my hands over my mouth
whenever the subject was mentioned.

I have no doubt but that I could have eaten as much tobacco as Matches
did, and escaped with only a short illness, but the sickly little
mossback didn't have the constitution that we ring-tails have. She was
a poor delicate creature that the least thing affected. I couldn't
help feeling sorry for her, and yet I was so glad to be rid of her
that I capered around for sheer joy. When I realised that never again
would I be kept awake by her snoring, never again would I be disturbed
by her disagreeable ways, and that at last I was even with her for
spilling me out of my berth on the sleeping-car, I swung on my
turning-pole until I was dizzy. No one knew what a jubilee I had all
alone that night in my little room under the eaves.

Little did I dream of the humiliation in store for me. The next day I
found that Matches was to have a funeral after school, and that I--I,