CHAPTER VIII.

DAME MITCHELL LOOKING FOR HER CAT.

SEVERAL days passed away in painful suspense; but,
like the great General Marlborough, the cat did not return.
The despair of Lady Greenford was deep-seated. She con-

eoKe stantly called to mind her
Mowmouth’s pretty ways, his
good nature, his attachment
to her, his superior intelli-
gence. Generous in her mis-
fortune, she did not reproach
Dame Mitchell; but rather
sought to appease the poor
= woman, who was overwhelmed

SSS with grief. She said to her
one evening, “ How can you help an irresistible misfortune ?
We must submit to the decrees of Providence.”

“‘T am of your opinion,” replied Dame Mitchell ; “if I
believed, like you, that Mowmouth was dead, I would
resign myself without a murmur to his loss; but I think
he is still living: I fancy him wandering about the town,
exposed to all manner of ill-treatment, and to the sauce-
pans of a host of cruel persecutors.”

 

 

“Go, go, you only deceive yourself; Mowmouth is dead,
or he would have come back to us by this time.”