The night was very dark, and it had begun to rain. The electric light, however, shone on this part of the garden, and he could see a small dark creature moving slowly along the fence.
“That must be one of the park cats,” said Eugene—“not the king, for there is no white on it. Why, it is his chum. What are you doing here, Squirrel, and why do you move so slowly?”
With a sharp almost human cry of pain, the little dark animal dropped from the fence to the ground.
“What is wrong with you?” said Eugene as he walked along beside him.
The cat paused an instant to give him a look of recognition, then, with a piteous mew, continued his journey to the house. On reaching Eugene’s window the animal lifted his head beseechingly.
“Thou wishest to go in, small park cat,” said Eugene, dropping into French; “well, spring for it. I permit thee, though it is late for a call.”
The cat gathered his limbs together, and, with something between a mew of gratitude and a wail of pain, managed to attain to the window-ledge.
“Why, thou art bleeding,” said Eugene in dismay, as he noticed red drops on the light wood. “Unfortunate animal, have the dogs been at thee?” and he hurried in after the cat, and bent over him as he lay on the floor exhausted by his journey to the house.
The cat did not resent the touch of his gentle fingers; and Eugene soon discovered the extent of his injuries, and made a bandage to hold together the torn skin. Immediately, however, on being released, Squirrel signified his wish to leave the room. Eugene opened the door, and followed him out through the hall to Mrs. Hardy’s room.
“Is not this devotion!” exclaimed the boy, throwing out his hands with a gesture of admiration. “Sick and wounded, and apparently about to die, the faithful creature would be in the home of his mistress. Poor pussy, I compassionate thee;” and slipping off his jacket the boy laid it on the bed, and lifted the cat on it.