speak of it;" and Dan stopped short in his unusual fit of communicativeness.
"Tell about the cats, please," said Demi, feeling that he had asked an unpleasant question, and sorry for it.
"Nothing to tell; only she had a lot of 'em, and kept 'em in a barrel nights; and I used to go and tip over the barrel sometimes, and let 'em out all over the house, and then she'd scold, and chase 'em and put 'em in again, spitting and yowling like fury."
"Was she good to them?" asked Demi, with a hearty child's laugh, pleasant to hear.
"Guess she was. Poor old soul! she took in all the lost and sick cats in the town; and when anybody wanted one they went to Marm Webber, and she let 'em pick any kind and color they wanted, and only asked ninepence,—she was so glad to have her pussies get a good home."
"I should like to see Marm Webber. Could I, if I went to that place?"
"She's dead. All my folks are," said Dan, briefly.
"I'm sorry;" and Demi sat silent a minute, wondering what subject would be safe to try next. He felt delicate about speaking of the departed lady, but was very curious about the cats, and could not resist asking softly—
"Did she cure the sick ones?"
"Sometimes. One had a broken leg, and she tied it up to a stick, and it got well; and another had fits, and she doctored it with yarbs till it was cured. But some of 'em died, and she buried 'em; and when they couldn't get well, she killed 'em easy."
"How?" asked Demi, feeling that there was a pe-
