[His face loses its smile.]

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Why! what’s she been duin’ then?  Mr. Strangway’s busy.  Won’t I du?

Jim. [Shaking his head] No.  I want to tell him.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Whatever she been duin’?  Havin’ kittens?

Jim.  No.  She’m lost.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Dearie me!  Aw! she’m not lost.  Cats be like maids; they must get out a bit.

Jim.  She’m lost.  Maybe he’ll know where she’ll be.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Well, well.  I’ll go an’ find ’im.

Jim.  He’s a gude man.  He’s very gude.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  That’s certain zure.

Strangway. [Entering from the house] Mrs. Burlacombe, I can’t think where I’ve put my book on St. Francis—­the large, squarish pale-blue one?

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Aw! there now!  I knu there was somethin’ on me mind.  Miss Willis she came in yesterday afternune when yu was out, to borrow it.  Oh! yes—­I said—­I’m zure Mr. Strangway’ll lend it ‘ee.  Now think o’ that!

Strangway.  Of course, Mrs. Burlacombe; very glad she’s got it.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  Aw! but that’s not all.  When I tuk it up there come out a whole flutter o’ little bits o’ paper wi’ little rhymes on ‘em, same as I see yu writin’.  Aw! my gudeness!  I says to meself, Mr. Strangway widn’ want no one seein’ them.

Strangway.  Dear me!  No; certainly not!

Mrs. Burlacombe.  An’ so I putt ’em in your secretary.

Strangway.  My-ah!  Yes.  Thank you; yes.

Mrs. Burlacombe.  But I’ll goo over an’ get the buke for yu. 
’T won’t take me ’alf a minit.

     [She goes out on to the green.  Jim Bere has come in.]

Strangway. [Gently] Well, Jim?

Jim.  My cat’s lost.

Strangway.  Lost?

Jim.  Day before yesterday.  She’m not come back.  They’ve shot ’er,
I think; or she’m caught in one o’ they rabbit-traps.

Strangway.  Oh! no; my dear fellow, she’ll come back.  I’ll speak to
Sir Herbert’s keepers.

Jim.  Yes, zurr.  I feel lonesome without ’er.

Strangway. [With a faint smile—­more to himself than to Jim]
Lonesome!  Yes!  That’s bad, Jim!  That’s bad!

Jim.  I miss ‘er when I sits than in the avenin’.

Strangway.  The evenings——­They’re the worst——­and when the blackbirds sing in the morning.

Jim.  She used to lie on my bed, ye know, zurr.

     [Strangway turns his face away, contracted with pain]

She’m like a Christian.

Strangway.  The beasts are.

Jim.  There’s plenty folk ain’t ’alf as Christian as ’er be.