CHAPTER XXIX

WE LOSE A FRIEND


Our beautiful October was marred by one day of black tragedy--the
day Paddy died. For Paddy, after seven years of as happy a life
as ever a cat lived, died suddenly--of poison, as was supposed.
Where he had wandered in the darkness to meet his doom we did not
know, but in the frosty dawnlight he dragged himself home to die.
We found him lying on the doorstep when we got up, and it did not
need Aunt Janet's curt announcement, or Uncle Blair's reluctant
shake of the head, to tell us that there was no chance of our pet
recovering this time. We felt that nothing could be done. Lard
and sulphur on his paws would be of no use, nor would any visit to
Peg Bowen avail. We stood around in mournful silence; the Story
Girl sat down on the step and took poor Paddy upon her lap.

"I s'pose there's no use even in praying now," said Cecily
desperately.

"It wouldn't do any harm to try," sobbed Felicity.

"You needn't waste your prayers," said Dan mournfully, "Pat is
beyond human aid. You can tell that by his eyes. Besides, I
don't believe it was the praying cured him last time."

"No, it was Peg Bowen," declared Peter, "but she couldn't have