Then followed a terrible month in which the little party were cut off
from news of one another. Only Down, the cat, wandering over roofs and
Heaven knows where and how, looked in here and there to settle on some
one's lap and purr.
"Cats," said poor Head-nurse, as she sat opposite Foster-mother,
grinding for all they were worth at a stone hand-mill in order to gain
enough to keep Bija from starving, "are of all God's creatures the most
contented; and so little pleases them. Hark! to Down how she purrs, just
because she has found us poor miserable women."
"Allah!" replied Foster-mother more cheerfully. "Is love such a little
thing? I think not, and Down hath seen my darling. Of that I feel sure;
she would not come and purr otherwise."
Still it was silent comfort and there was so much going on; so much that
even the "miserable women" could not hear, though they were free to come
and go. But one day when Down was purring on Bija's lap in the straw
thatch which was all the three had for lodging, a passer-by paused to
say:
[Illustration: _And one day the door did open.... "My son--my little
son."_]
"That is the cat I used to see with the little King. Have you ought to
do with him, sister?"
"I _am_ his sister," replied Bija haughtily, whereat the sentry, for it
was he, laughed; but for all that he paused to tell the two women what
he knew; though that was not much.
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