Of course, Gill was off betimes next morning, taking the old soldier to the Institution on his way. He went directly to the pleasant room, under the French roof, where the one window looked out upon the sweep of houses and spires, and up to the deep, fathomless sky. The plants were fresh and green upon the stand, and a new rose had just blossomed, filling the room with its fragrance; but the old market-woman sat by the window with her head upon her hand. She had lost the bloom of the previous day, and looked withered and weary.
“I’m tired of the market-place,” she said. “I think I shall be permitted to go to my husband and my baby before long; but I could not go easily until you had taken the cat. Thank you for coming so soon.”
Gill tried to persuade her that she was only slightly ailing, and that she would be out again by to-morrow; but she held Tib in one long, close embrace, and then put her in the cradle and turned her back, while Gill took the cat down stairs and drove away.
She had nothing more to live for now. Not that she had lived for this little animal alone,—Mrs. Beth was gentle and kind to every thing and every body; but her days were fulfilled, and God took her up to be with himself and her beloved ones, and somebody else sat in the stall by the old broken lantern. Tib mourned for a a little while, and seemed lost in the new place, but soon grew content; for she had the same old cradle, and Gill and the market-cart, which she had long been accustomed to. She liked her new mistress, and Ben and Jack, very much indeed. Mr. and Mrs. Reed and Lucy petted her, and Dobbin and Flash and Brindle allowed her to get almost under their heels and purr about them.