Backing down the High Street. “Oh, no⁠—not at all⁠—certainly⁠—don’t you trouble. I⁠—I am afraid I’ve made a mistake. I thought I knew you. Sorry I disturbed you.”

“Not at all⁠—quite a pleasure. Sure you don’t want anything, now?”

Still backing. “Not at all, thanks⁠—not at all⁠—very kind of you. Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

Then the cat rose, and continued his trot; and Montmorency, fitting what he calls his tail carefully into its groove, came back to us, and took up an unimportant position in the rear.

To this day, if you say the word “Cats!” to Montmorency, he will visibly shrink and look up piteously at you, as if to say:

“Please don’t.”