CHAPTER VII.

HOW DADDY SHARPPHIZ IS RAISED TO THE HEIGHT OF HUMAN BLISS, AND
DAME MITCHELL’S CAT FALLS INTO THE LOWEST DEPTH OF MISERY.

SHARPPHIZ had fixed upon the morrow to put an end
to the existence of Mowmouth, because he knew it was the
day on which Dame Mitchell would be going to carry her
savings to the coach-office for her sister.

Nicholas had been very dejected during the entire day,
and when the fatal hour had arrived, his misgivings of the
previous day again assailed him. When Dame Mitchell
said to him, before she went out:—* Watch over Mow-
mouth, I leave him to your care, and play with him, to
keep up his spirits whilst I am away ;” the worthy lad felt
his heart sink within him, and his native honesty rebelled.

‘ Come, there is not a moment to be lost,” said Daddy
Sharpphiz, “here’s the bag; go you, and look for the cat.”

Nicholas once more entreated the butler to be merciful:
he was eloquent, there was grief even in his voice, he de-
livered a most moving address, but without gaining his
cause. The monster was implacable, and repeated his
threats; nothing less than the cat’s death would satisfy
him; and Nicholas, subdued by the spirit of evil, was
forced to obey.

Mowmouth was accordingly enticed into the garden;
he followed his perfidious friend with as much reliance as
the lamb follows the butcher, and, when least he expected