Colonel Clarkson waited a reasonable time, but as Dick did not reappear, he bent down towards the Tabby cat and smoothed her.
“Go, find,” he said.
In a moment the cat was off through the hedge.
The Colonel listened with an amused smile on his face. He knew right well what would happen.
Then he heard Dick’s voice, and knew that pussy had found the truant.
“Eh? Eh? What is it?” These are his very words. “Tse, tse, tse! Sugar and snails! You r-r-rascal!”
Then back flew Dick to his master. Tabby herself appeared next minute, and the journey was resumed without further incident or adventure.
Meanwhile, where was Shireen?
When Shireen left Uncle Ben’s bungalow, she kept along inside the railing for some time. It was about the hour at which the butcher’s dog came out for his evening run, and Shireen knew right well he would be revenged on her if he possibly could, so she was determined not to give him the chance. But the coast was clear, and soon she was in the village. She trotted into the blacksmith’s shop, and he had a very kindly greeting for her, Shireen was very fond of spending half-an-hour with the blacksmith. Cats like pleasant people, and he was always laughing or singing, and often beating time to his song with the hammer on a red-hot horse-shoe, while the yellow sparks flew in all directions. Besides, there was always a nice fire here, and an air of comfort in the place—to Shireen’s way of thinking. She was a high-bred cat, it is true, and a cat of ancient lineage, as we know, but she was not at all aristocratic in the choice of her friends.
Shireen left the blacksmith at last, and went to see the sick child. It is strange, but true as well as strange, that cats never fail to sympathise with human beings in grief or suffering.