"Well, I've done with cats," said William solemnly, withdrawing his hand from his mouth and watching the furry, flying creature in the distance. "I've done with cats. If they was to come in crowds now, askin' to be put in the basket, I wun't touch them. I've done with cats. I'll feel sick whenever I see a cat for the rest of my life."
A boy came down the road, his pockets bulging with something that moved.
"What's that?" said William, without interest or spirit.
The boy took out a small furry animal.
"Ferrit. Me Dad catches rabbits with 'um! You've gotter be careful 'ow you 'olds 'em."
"Will you sell it?" asked William sadly, taking out his half-crown.
"It's not a cat," said Ginger, wearily.
But William had not lost his optimism.
"Some folks don't know much about animals," he said, hopefully. "They might think it was a cat!"
William's father and mother and sister were in the morning-room when he entered with his basket. He held it out to Ethel.