"What are you going to do with Solomon?" asked Doris.
"Well—I don't know. Aunt Elizabeth doesn't like cats very much. He's such a nice fellow, I should hate to leave him behind and have him neglected. But it's bad luck to move cats."
"I should like to have him."
"Would you, now? He's almost like a human. I've said that many a time; and he went round asking after Polly just as plain as anyone could. I declare, it made my heart ache. Polly had been a capable woman, and Mr. Perkins bought her, so I didn't feel free to turn her away when he was gone. And I'd grown used to a servant, too. I don't know what I should have done without her the two years he was ailing. Though when she came to be forgetful and lose her judgment it did use to try me. But I'm glad now I kept her to the end. I'd borrowed a sight of trouble thinking what I'd do if she fell sick, and I might just as well have trusted the Lord right straight along. When I come to have this other creetur ordering everything, and making tea her way,—she will boil it and you might as well give me senna,—then I knew Polly had some sense and memory, after all. You can't think how I miss her! I'm sorry for every bit of fault I've found these last two years."
Aunt Priscilla stopped to take breath and wipe her eyes. Polly's death had opened her mind to many things.
Doris sat and stroked Solomon and rubbed him under the throat. Now and then he looked up with an intent, asking gaze, and a solemn flick of one ear, as if he said, "Can't you tell me where Polly is gone?"
"You'd have to ask Uncle Winthrop. And I don't know what Miss Recompense would say."
"She likes cats."
"Oh. Well, I'm afraid Uncle Winthrop doesn't."
"If he should," tentatively.