“But then the mice, papa—”
“Well, but—but—oh, hang the mice!”
“Yes; but how are we to catch them?” said Kate.
At this moment the cook, who had heard the sound of breaking crockery, and judged it expedient that he should be present, opened the door.
“How now, rascal!” exclaimed his master, striding up to him. “Did I ring for you, eh?”
“No, sir; but—”
“But! eh, but! no more ‘buts,’ you scoundrel, else I’ll—”
The motion of Mr. Kennedy’s fist warned the cook to make a precipitate retreat, which he did at the same moment that the cat resolved to run for its life. This caused them to meet in the doorway, and making a compound entanglement with the mat, they both fell into the passage with a loud crash. Mr. Kennedy shut the door gently, and returned to his chair, patting Kate on the head as he passed.
“Now, darling, go on with what you were saying; and don’t mind the tea-pot—let it lie.”
“Well,” resumed Kate, with a smile, “I was saying that the next opportunity Charley can have will be by the brigade in spring, which we expect to arrive here, you know, a month hence; but we won’t get a letter by that, as I feel convinced that he and Harry will come by it themselves.”