daughter's spirit was in her?" Here the poor demented lady burst into convulsive sobs. Mr. Bouncer, with kindly words, endeavoured to soothe her; but in vain. "My poor cat!" she sobbed; "she was all that was left to me. I shall never have another daughter. Oh, she was so good and loving!"
The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, and Mr. Bouncer began to fear he should be doing harm if he continued the interview with Mrs. Flabby; so, with a few more cheering and reassuring words, he got up from the grass, and said, "I will go and see how the dancers are getting on. They seem to be enjoying themselves. Won't you come nearer to them, ma'am?"
"Not just yet! soon. Oh, how kind you have been to me!" said poor Mrs. Flabby.
After Mr. Bouncer had rejoined the party on the summit of Firs Hill, he mentioned to Dr. Dustacre a portion of Mrs. Flabby's conversation, and asked if there were any foundation for her statements.
"For her poem, I know there is," answered the Doctor. "She published some little book for children, of which she thought highly, and from which she expected to gain both money and reputation. She was deceived, as other authors have been; and, I daresay, it preyed upon her mind. As to her cat, that is, unfortunately, true. When a kitten, it belonged to the master of the institution. Mrs. Flabby begged to have it, and her request was granted. I think she must have had it nearly five years. Unfortunately, it died about a fortnight ago; and Mrs. Flabby has felt its death the more keenly as she believed that it was animated by the spirit of a deceased daughter. Such a belief is by no means rare. A similar fancy, you may remember, is mentioned
