o,"
answered Aunt Janet decidedly, "and you shouldn't encourage them. Here
now, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and get off to your
apple picking."

We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any such
off-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury him in
the orchard at sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had to go home,
declared she would be back for it, and implored us to wait for her if
she didn't come exactly on time.

"I mayn't be able to get away till after milking," she sniffed, "but I
don't want to miss it. Even a cat's funeral is better than none at all."

"Horrid thing!" said Felicity, barely waiting until Sara was out of
earshot.

We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly most of
the time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening drew on we began
to feel a sneaking interest in the details of the funeral. As Dan said,
the thing should be done properly, since Paddy was no common cat. The
Story Girl selected the spot for the grave, in a little corner behind
the cherry copse, where early violets enskied the grass in spring, and
we boys dug the grave, making it "soft and narrow," as the heroine of
the old ballad wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in time
after all, and Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the Story
Girl kept far aloof.

"This time last night you never thought you'd be digging Pat's grave
to-night," sighed Felicity.

"We little k-know what a day will bring forth," sobbed Sara. "I've heard
the minister say that and it is true."

"Of course it's true. It's in the Bible; but I don't think you should
repeat it in connection with a cat," said Felicity dubiously.

When all was in readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through the
orchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless coffin
enclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat cardboard box.

"I wonder if it would be right to say 'ashes to ashes and dust to
dust,'" said Peter.

"No, it wouldn't," averred Felicity. "It would be real wicked."

"I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway," asseverated Sara Ray.

"Well, we might do that, if it isn't a very religious one," conceded
Felicity.

"How would 'Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore,' do?" asked
Cecily. "That never seemed to me a very religious hymn."

"But it doesn't seem very appropriate to a funeral occasion either,"
said Felicity.

"I think 'Lead, kindly light,' w