At once there came a voice across the room, "Is that you, Mum ?" "Yes, Timmy, it's Mum." Shutting the door, she felt her way across the room and came and sat down on Timmy's bed.

He was sitting up, wide awake.
She put her arms round him.

"I'm so sorry," she said feelingly; "so sorry, Timmy, about your poor cat! But you know, my dear, that if--if she were left alive, we could never feel comfortable for a single moment.

You see, when an animal has done that sort of thing once, it may do it again." "Josephine would never do it again," said Timmy obstinately, and he caught his breath with a sob.
"You can't possibly know that, my dear.

She would of course have other kittens, and then some day, when some perfectly harmless person happened to come anywhere near her, she would fly at him or her, just as she did at Mrs.Crofton." "No, she wouldn't--she didn't do anything like that when she had her last kittens." "I know that, Timmy.