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 'They're all right names for dogs, but I think they're too big for a kitten, don't you, Dad?'

'Yes, p'raps they are,' said Owen.

'Most cats are called Tom or Kitty, but I don't want a common name for him.'

'Well, can't you call him after someone you know?'

'I know! I'll call him after a little girl that comes to our school; a fine name—Maud! That'll be a good one, won't it, Dad?'

'Yes,' said Owen.

'I say, Dad,' said Frankie, suddenly realising the awful fact that he was being put to bed; 'you're forgetting all about my story, and you promised that you'd have a game of trains with me to-night.'

'I hadn't forgotten, but I was hoping that you had, because I'm very tired and it's very late, long past your usual bed-time, you know. You can take the kitten to bed with you to-night and I'll tell you two stories to-morrow and have the game as well. I shall have plenty of time to-morrow because it's Saturday.'

'All right, then,' said the boy, contentedly.

After the child was in bed, Owen sat alone by the table in the draughty sitting-room, thinking.

Although there was a bright fire the room was very cold, being so close to the roof. The wind roared loudly round the gables, shaking the house in a way that threatened every moment to hurl it to the ground.

The lamp on the table had a green glass reservoir which was half full of oil. Owen watched this with unconscious fascination. Every time a gust of wind struck the house the oil in the lamp was agitated, and rippled against the glass like the waves of a miniature sea.

Staring abstractedly at the lamp, he thought of the future.

A few years ago the future had seemed a region of wonderful and mysterious possibilities of good, but to-night the thought brought no such illusions, for he knew that the story of the future was to be much the same as the story of the past.

The story of the past would continue to repeat itself for a few years longer. He would continue to work and they would all three have to go without most of the necessaries of life.

When there was no work they would starve.

For himself he did not care much because he knew that at 71