"Perhaps they don't."

"Really, Miss, of course they do. What's the Lord to do with all the
dead horses and cows?"

Catharine thought, "Or with the dead men and women," but she said
nothing. The subject was new to her. She took her scissors and cut off
a wisp of Maggie's beautiful mane, twisted it up, put it carefully in a
piece of paper, and placed it in a little pocket-book which she always
carried. The next morning as soon as it was daylight a man came over
from Eastthorpe; Maggie was hoisted into a cart, her legs dangling down
outside, and was driven away to be converted into food for dogs.

One of Catharine's favourite haunts was a meadow by the bridge. She was
not given to reading, but she liked a stroll and, as there were plenty of
rats, the dog enjoyed the stroll too. Not a week after Maggie's death
she had wandered to this point without her usual companion. A barge had
gone down just before she arrived, and for some reason or other had made
fast to the bank about a quarter of a mile below her on the side opposite
to the towing-path. She sat down under a willow with her face to the
water and back to the sun, for it was very hot, and in a few minutes she
was half dozing. Suddenly she started, and one of the bargemen stood
close by her.

"Hullo, my beauty! Why, you was asleep! Wot's the time?"

"I haven't a watch."

"Haven't a watch! Now that's a shame; if you was mine, my love, you