The Story Girl gathered Paddy up in her arms. Most mellifluously
did he purr as we crowded around to stroke him; with friendly joy
he licked our hands with his little red tongue; poor Paddy was a
thankful cat; he was no longer lost, starving, imprisoned,
helpless; he was with his comrades once more and he was going
home--home to his old familiar haunts of orchard and dairy and
granary, to his daily rations of new milk and cream, to the cosy
corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully, the Story
Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder.
Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on
the golden road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows
that night, and it danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet,
and sang a delicate song of the lovely, waiting years, while the
night laid her beautiful hands of blessing over the world.
"You see what Peg's wishbone did," said Peter triumphantly.
"Now, look here, Peter, don't talk nonsense," expostulated Dan.
"The Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring
us word before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean
to say you believe he wouldn't have come walking up our lane just
when he did if she had never thought of it?"
"I mean to say that I wouldn't mind if I had several wishbones of
the same kind," retorted Peter stubbornly.
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