The cat was bestowing no friendly look on Flagg. He had often cuffed her whenever she ventured to leap into his lap. He had repulsed the cat as he repelled human beings who had sought to make up to him. Now he called to her softly, inviting her with his hand. She backed away with apprehensive haste. "I'm starting late, pussy," he muttered. "And I was never much of a hand at coaxing anybody to come to me. But I wish you'd hop up here on my knee. Come, kitty! Please come!" It was a long time before he was able to gain her confidence. He heard the big bays go trampling away down the ledges. At last the cat came cautiously, climbing up his leg, and sat on his knees and stared up at his face in a questioning way. "She's too much like her mother for me not to know her--like her mother looked when she went away," he informed the cat. "I reckon I'm a whole lot different right now than I ever was before. I'm old and sick--and I'm different. I don't blame you for looking hard at me, kitty. I'm so lonesome that I'm glad to have a cat to talk to. She's got her mother's looks--and the Flagg grit. She wants to do it her own way--like I'd want to do it my way, without being bothered. And I'm letting her do it. It wouldn't be a square deal if I didn't let her. And she'll do it! It's in her! She's trying to pay back. It's the style of the Flaggs. She didn't come up here to smash me or Latisan. I didn't believe what she said--a Flagg knows when another Flagg is lying. She came to help--and she'll do it yet! She's Lida, kitty, Lida!" His tone caressed the name. His hand caressed the written name. Then he turned the pages slowly, going forward in the volume--to the New Testament. And after a time he found words which fitted his new mood and he read aloud to his feline auditor. "'Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: and be ye kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another----'" Jeff, the servitor, hearing the mumble of the old man's voice, tiptoed to the door and peeped in. He goggled at the tableau and listened to the words. He was in the state of mind of that oft-quoted doubter who spat on the giraffe's hoof and remarked to the bystanders, "Hell! There ain't no such animile!" CHAPTER NINETEEN Brophy was distinctly inhospitable when Lida walked into the tavern. She curtly stated her errand as she passed him on her way to the stairs, and when she returned with her bag he allowed her to leave without opening his mouth. She took the money he offered and put it in her pocket without counting it. The men who were about the place were silent, too. The fact that Flagg was sending her away in his own hitch stirred their curiosity and had considerable to do with keeping their rude tongues off a person who had evidently come to an understanding with the master of the big house. "Where are ye headed, Dick?" asked a bystander while the girl was in the tavern.