It ascended; it went higher and higher and higher, until it was a mere speck; then it came sailing down, down, down, until it struck the earth.

It was the cat, singed off, burned to a crisp, looking as if it had been spending the summer in Vesuvius, but apparently still active and hearty; for as soon as it alighted it set up a wild, unearthly screech and darted off for the woodshed, where it continued to howl until Potts went in and killed it with his shotgun.

It cost him forty dollars for a new spout, but he says he doesn't grudge the money now that he has stopped that fiendish noise.
* * * * * Potts' clock got out of order one day last winter and began to strike wrong.

That was the cause of the fearful excitement at his house on a certain night.

They were all in bed sound asleep at midnight, when the clock suddenly struck _five_.