"Will you write to me sometimes?"
Elizabeth stooped to pick up Launcelot, the cat.
"Yes," she said, "if you don't mind prattle. I so rarely have any thoughts."
He assured her that he would be grateful for anything she cared to send him.
"Tell me what you are doing; about the church people you visit, if the Peggy-child gets better, if Mr. Taylor makes a joke, and of course about your father and Buff. Everything you say or do interests me. You know that, don't you—Lizbeth?"
But Elizabeth kept her eyes on the purring cat, and—"Isn't he a polite young man, puss-cat?" was all she said.
Buff's voice was raised in warning from the hall.
"Coming," cried Arthur; but he still tarried.
Elizabeth put the cat on her shoulder and led the way.
"Launcelot and I shall see you off from the doorstep. You mustn't miss your train. As Marget says, 'Haste ye back.'"