Anthea wrapped the embroidered, woolly sofa-blanket round Jane and herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug. [Illustration: "ROBERT AND CYRIL HAD A STRUGGLE FOR THE LARGER SHARE OF THE FUR HEARTHRUG."] "It is most truly awful," said Anthea. "And I _am_ so tired. Let's let the cats loose." "And the cow, perhaps?" said Cyril. "The police would find us at once. That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to come in. And so would the cats. No; I see quite well what we've got to do. We must put them in baskets and leave them on people's doorsteps, like orphan foundlings." "We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one," said Jane, brightening. "And there are nearly two hundred cats," said Anthea, "besides the cow, and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her. And then I don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a doorstep big enough to put it on, except the church one, and----" "Oh, well," said Cyril, "if you simply _make_ difficulties----" "I'm with you," said Robert. "Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. It's simply _got_ to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the cow is a remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think for hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for baskets, we'll do them up in dusters or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be out of it, if you like." His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and desperate to care; even being "out of it," which at other times they could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down in the sofa-blanket and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them. "Ah," he said, "that's all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things." "I'm not," said Anthea; "you know I'm not." But Cyril was gone. It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled up close to her sister, and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, and in a sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as Robert opened the door of the nursery. They heard the booted search for baskets in the back kitchen. They heard the side door open and close, and they knew that each brother had gone out with at least one cat. Anthea's last thought was that it would take at least all night to get rid of one hundred and ninety-nine cats by twos. There would be eighty-nine journeys of two cats each, and one cat over. "I almost think we might keep the one cat over," said Anthea; "I don't seem to care for cats just now, but I dare say I shall again some day." And she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping. It was Jane who awoke with a start to find Anthea still asleep. As in the act of awakening she kicked her sister, she wondered idly why they should have gone to bed in their boots, but the next moment she remembered where they were.