“Where, my dear boy, where?” cried Mrs L—
“Up in a tree, far down in the wood, ma’am.”
“And why didn’t you bring him? I’ll go with you, and we must get him, and I will pay you well.”
“Can you climb trees?” she added.
“Like a squirrel,” he said boldly.
The tree was soon found, and up swarmed the boy.
“It is Clyde right enough!” he shouted down; “but she’s been and gone and hung herself.”
“Oh, poor pussy! Is she dead?”
By this time the lad was coming down the tree with pussy under his jacket.
“Never a dead is she, ma’am, but awfully thin.”