“Isn’t that lovely?  I tried to draw it—­the shape was so graceful I wanted to keep it.  But I couldn’t.  Isn’t it a pity such beautiful things won’t last forever?” and Merry looked regretfully at the half-faded one that grew beside the fresh blossom.

“I can keep it for you.  It would look well in plaster.  May I?” asked Ralph.

“Thank you, I should like that very much.  Take the real one as a model—­please do; there are more coming, and this will brighten up your room for a day or two.”

As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding two or three of the great green leaves, put the handsome flower in his hand with so much good-will that he felt as if he had received a very precious gift.  Then he said good-night so gratefully that Merry’s hand quite tingled with the grasp of his, and went away, often looking backward through the darkness to where the light burned brightly on the hill-top—­the beacon kindled by an unconscious Hero for a young Leander swimming gallantly against wind and tide toward the goal of his ambition.

Chapter XVII

Down at Molly’s

“Now, my dears, I’ve something very curious to tell you, so listen quietly and then I’ll give you your dinners,” said Molly, addressing the nine cats who came trooping after her as she went into the shed-chamber with a bowl of milk and a plate of scraps in her hands.  She had taught them to behave well at meals, so, though their eyes glared and their tails quivered with impatience, they obeyed; and when she put the food on a high shelf and retired to the big basket, the four old cats sat demurely down before her, while the five kits scrambled after her and tumbled into her lap, as if hoping to hasten the desired feast by their innocent gambols.

Granny, Tobias, Mortification, and Molasses were the elders.  Granny, a gray old puss, was the mother and grandmother of all the rest.  Tobias was her eldest son, and Mortification his brother, so named because he had lost his tail, which affliction depressed his spirits and cast a blight over his young life.  Molasses was a yellow cat, the mamma of four of the kits, the fifth being Granny’s latest darling.  Toddlekins, the little aunt, was the image of her mother, and very sedate even at that early age; Miss Muffet, so called from her dread of spiders, was a timid black and white kit; Beauty, a pretty Maltese, with a serene little face and pink nose; Ragbag, a funny thing, every color that a cat could be; and Scamp, who well deserved his name, for he was the plague of Miss Bat’s life, and Molly’s especial pet.

He was now perched on her shoulder, and, as she talked, kept peeping into her face or biting her ear in the most impertinent way, while the others sprawled in her lap or promenaded round the basket rim.

“My friends, something very remarkable has happened:  Miss Bat is cleaning house!” and, having made this announcement, Molly leaned back to see how the cats received it, for she insisted that they understood all she said to them.