upon her as a heavenly vision upon a Biblical criminal.  In an instant she was a changed being.  The wicked beast, going about seeking whom it might devour, had vanished.  In its place sat a long-tailed, furry angel, gazing up into the sky with an expression that was one-third innocence and two-thirds admiration of the beauties of nature.  What was she doing there, did I want to know?  Why, could I not see, playing with a bit of earth.  Surely I was not so evil-minded as to imagine she wanted to kill that dear little bird—­God bless it.

“Then note an old Tom, slinking home in the early morning, after a night spent on a roof of bad repute.  Can you picture to yourself a living creature less eager to attract attention?  ‘Dear me,’ you can all but hear it saying to itself, ’I’d no idea it was so late; how time does go when one is enjoying oneself.  I do hope I shan’t meet any one I know—­very awkward, it’s being so light.’

“In the distance it sees a policeman, and stops suddenly within the shelter of a shadow.  ‘Now what’s he doing there,’ it says, ’and close to our door too?  I can’t go in while he’s hanging about.  He’s sure to see and recognise me; and he’s just the sort of man to talk to the servants.’

“It hides itself behind a post and waits, peeping cautiously round the corner from time to time.  The policeman, however, seems to have taken up his residence at that particular spot, and the cat becomes worried and excited.

“‘What’s the matter with the fool?’ it mutters indignantly; ’is he dead?  Why don’t he move on, he’s always telling other people to.  Stupid ass.’

“Just then a far-off cry of ‘milk’ is heard, and the cat starts up in an agony of alarm.  ’Great Scott, hark at that!  Why, everybody will be down before I get in.  Well, I can’t help it.  I must chance it.’

“He glances round at himself, and hesitates.  ’I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t look so dirty and untidy,’ he muses; ’people are so prone to think evil in this world.’

“‘Ah, well,’ he adds, giving himself a shake, ’there’s nothing else for it, I must put my trust in Providence, it’s pulled me through before:  here goes.’

“He assumes an aspect of chastened sorrow, and trots along with a demure and saddened step.  It is evident he wishes to convey the idea that he has been out all night on work connected with the Vigilance Association, and is now returning home sick at heart because of the sights that he has seen.

“He squirms in, unnoticed, through a window, and has just time to give himself a hurried lick down before he hears the cook’s step on the stairs.  When she enters the kitchen he is curled up on the hearthrug, fast asleep.  The opening of the shutters awakes him.  He rises and comes forward, yawning and stretching himself.

“‘Dear me, is it morning, then?’ he says drowsily.  ’Heigh-ho!  I’ve had such a lovely sleep, cook; and such a beautiful dream about poor mother.’