"Well, in any case, you must have a cup of tea now you are here," continued Aunt Pussy, taking off her worn gloves, which I had mended for her till the fingers were mere stumps. "Ring the bell, Janet. We will have tea in here as there isn't a fire in the drawing-room." She put down more parcels on the table, and then her face changed. "My bag!" she gasped, and collapsed into a chair like one felled by emotion. "My bag!" We looked everywhere. Mark explored the hall and the umbrella-stand. No handbag was to be seen. "I knew something would happen if the month began with a Friday!" moaned Aunt Pussy. "Had it a great deal in it?" I asked. "Twenty pounds!" said Aunt Pussy, as if it were the savings of a lifetime. "I had drawn twenty pounds to pay the monthly books." And she became the colour of lead. I flew for her salts, and made tea quickly, and presently she recovered sufficiently to drink it. But her hand shook. "Twenty pounds!" she repeated, below her breath. We questioned her as to where she last remembered using the bag, and at length elicited the information that she had no recollection of its society after visiting Brown and Prodgers, the great shop in Baskaville Road, where she recalled eating a meat lozenge, drawn from its recesses. Mark offered to go round there at once, and see if it had been found. "I've never lost anything before," she said when he had gone, "but I felt this morning that some misfortune was going to happen. There was a black cat on the leads when I looked out. As sure as fate, if I see a black cat something goes wrong. Last time I saw one, two of my handkerchiefs were missing from the wash." As Aunt Pussy bought her handkerchiefs in the sales for less than sixpence each, I felt that the black cat made himself rather cheap. Mark returned with the cheering news that a bag had been found at Brown and Prodgers, and one of the principal shopwalkers had taken charge of it. And if Aunt Pussy would call in person to-morrow, and accurately describe its contents, it would be returned to her. Aunt Pussy was so much relieved that she actually smiled on him, and offered him a second cup of tea. But next morning at breakfast I saw at once that something was gravely amiss. Had she slept? Yes. Had she seen the black cat? No. "The truth is, Janet," she said, "I have had a most terrible dream. I feel sure it was a warning, and I really don't know whether I ought to call for it or not." "Call for what?" "The bag." "Was the dream about the bag?"