can 'ave a lend of our cat for a little while if you give us
this kitten,' said the boy, after a moment's thought.

'Why would you rather have the kitten?'

'Because it would play: our cat don't want to play, it's too old.'

'Perhaps you're too rough with it,' returned Owen.

'No, it ain't that; it's just because it's old.'

'You know cats is just the same as people,' explained the little girl,
wisely. 'When they're grown up I suppose they've got their troubles to
think about.'

Owen wondered how long it would be before her troubles commenced. As
he gazed at these two little orphans he thought of his own child, and
of the rough and thorny way they would all three have to travel if they
were so unfortunate as to outlive their childhood.

'Can we 'ave it, mister?' repeated the boy.

Owen would have liked to grant the children's request, but he wanted
the kitten himself. Therefore he was relieved when their grandmother
exclaimed:

'We don't want no more cats 'ere: we've got one already; that's quite
enough.'

She was not yet quite satisfied in her mind that the creature was not
an incarnation of the Devil, but whether it was or not she did not want
it, or anything else of Owen's, in this house. She wished he would go,
and take his kitten or his familiar or whatever it was, with him. No
good could come of his being there. Was it not written in the Word:
'If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema
Maran-atha.' She did not know exactly what Anathema Maran-atha meant,
but there could be no doubt that it was something very unpleasant. It
was a terrible thing that this blasphemer who--as she had heard--did
not believe there was a Hell and said that the Bible was not the Word
of God, should be here in the house sitting on one of their chairs,
drinking from one of their cups, and talking to their children.

The children stood by wistfully when Owen put the kitten under his coat
and rose to go away.

As Linden prepared to accompany him to the front door, Owen, happening
to notice a timepiece standing on a small table in the recess at one
side of the fireplace, exclaimed:

'That's a very nice clock.'

'Yes, it's all right, ain't it?' said old Jack, with a touch of pride.
'Poor Tom made that: not the clock itself, but just the case.'

It was the case that had attracted Owen's attention. It stood about
two feet high and was made of fretwork in the form of an Indian mosque,
with a pointed