The Mason-bees 



indoors when we started; he was prowling 

 round the hay-lofts of the neighbourhood. 

 The carrier was promised an extra ten francs 

 if he brought the Cat to Orange with one of 

 the loads which he had still to convey. On 

 his last journey he brought him stowed away 

 under the driver's seat. I scarcely knew my 

 old Tom when we opened the moving prison 

 in which he had been confined since the day 

 before. He came out looking a most alarm- 

 ing beast, scratching and spitting, with 

 bristling hair, bloodshot eyes, lips white with 

 foam. I thought him mad and watched him 

 closely for a time. I was wrong : it was merely 

 the fright of a bewildered animal. Had 

 there been trouble with the carrier when he 

 was caught? Did he have a bad time on the 

 journey? History is silent on both points. 

 What I do know is that the very nature of 

 the Cat seemed changed: there was no more 

 friendly purring, no more rubbing against our 

 legs; nothing but a wild expression and the 

 deepest gloom. Kind treatment could not 

 soothe him. For a few weeks longer, he 

 dragged his wretched existence from corner 

 to corner; then, one day, I found him lying 

 dead in the ashes on the hearth. Grief, with 

 ii6 



