I was afraid he was
dead at first. He was lying there with his eyes closed; but when
I bent over him he opened them and gave a pitiful little mew; or
rather his mouth made the motion of a mew, for he was too weak to
utter a sound."
"Oh, poor, poor Paddy," said tender-hearted Cecily tearfully.
"He couldn't stand, so I carried him home and gave him just a
little milk. Fortunately he was able to lap it. I gave him a
little more at intervals all day, and when I left he was able to
crawl around. I think he'll be all right, but you'll have to be
careful how you feed him for a few days. Don't let your hearts
run away with your judgment and kill him with kindness."
"Do you suppose any one put him under that barrel?" asked the
Story Girl.
"No. The barn was locked. Nothing but a cat could get in. I
suppose he went under the barrel, perhaps in pursuit of a mouse,
and somehow knocked it off the block and so imprisoned himself."
Paddy was sitting before the fire in the Awkward Man's clean, bare
kitchen. Thin! Why, he was literally skin and bone, and his fur
was dull and lustreless. It almost broke our hearts to see our
beautiful Paddy brought so low.
"Oh, how he must have suffered!" moaned Cecily.
"He'll be as prosperous as ever in a week or two," said the
Awkward Man kindly.
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