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land. But, now I think of it,” he added, “cats can swim ;
this rascal may yet escape! Psha! psha! it’s a long way
from Lady Greenford’s to Westminster-bridge.”

Quieted by this reflection, the butler hurried along till
he reached the garden door, then ran up to his room, and
lay there in ambush, to see and enjoy Dame Mitchell’s
lamentation. The yood woman had stayed a long time with
the sick porter, but at length she left him to go and give
her cat the cup of sweet milk with which she used to treat
him every night.

She went leisurely up to the drawing-room, feeling
calm and not foreseeing the dreadful catastrophe. Not
finding the cat where she had left him, she merely thought
he had blockaded himself behind the cushions of the sofa;
so she turned them over and over to look for him; she then