"'E 'ated 'em like poison, that's wot 'e did. The week afore your uncle died, he kilt this 'ere cat wot's chasin' the chickens now, and I buried 'im with my own hands, but could 'e stay buried? 'E could not. No sooner is your uncle dead and gone than this 'ere cat comes back, and it's the truth, Miss Carr, for where 'e was buried, there ain't no sign of a cat now. Wot's worse, this 'ere cat looks per-cisely like your uncle, green eyes, white shirt front, black tie and all. It's enough to give a body the shivers to see 'im a-settin' on the kitchen floor lappin' up 'is mush and milk, the which your uncle was so powerful fond of. "Wot's more," continued Mrs. Smithers, in tones of awe, "I'll a'most bet my immortal soul that if you'll dig in the cemetery where your uncle was buried good and proper, you won't find nothin' but the empty coffin and maybe 'is grave clothes. Your uncle's been livin' with us all along in that there cat," she added, triumphantly. "It's 'is punishment, for 'e couldn't never abide 'em, that's wot 'e couldn't." Mrs. Carr opened her mouth to speak, then, remembering her promise, took refuge in flight. "'Er's scared," muttered Mrs. Smithers, "and no wonder. Wot with cats as can't stay buried, writin' letters and deliverin' 'em in the dead of night, and a purrin' like mad while blamed fools digs for eight cents, most folks would be scared, I take it, that's wot they would." Dorothy was pale when she went into the library where Harlan was at work. He frowned at the interruption and Dorothy smiled back at him--it seemed so normal and sane. "What is it, Dorothy?" he asked, not unkindly. "Oh--just Mrs. Smithers's nonsense. She's upset me." "What about, dear?" Harlan put his work aside readily enough now. "Oh, the same old story about the cat and Uncle Ebeneezer. And I'm afraid----" "Afraid of what?" "I know it's foolish, but I'm afraid she's going to dig in the cemetery to see if Uncle Ebeneezer is still there. She thinks he's in the cat." For the moment, Harlan thought Dorothy had suddenly lost her reason, then he laughed heartily. "Don't worry," he said, "she won't do anything of the kind, and, besides, what if she did? It's a free country, isn't it?" "And--there's another thing, Harlan." For days she had dreaded to speak of it, but now it could be put off no longer. "It's--it's money," she went on, unwillingly. "I'm afraid I haven't managed very well, or else it's cost so much for everything, but we're--we're almost broke, Harlan," she concluded, bravely, trying to smile. Harlan put his hands in his pockets and began to walk back and forth. "If I can only finish the book," he said, at length, "I think we'll be all right, but I can't leave it now. There's only two more chapters to write, and then----" "And then," cried Dorothy, her beautiful belief in him transfiguring her face, "then we'll be rich, won't we?" "I am already rich," returned Harlan, "when you have such faith in me as that."