DEATH SENTENCE

When the party broke up and they had returned to their own cottage she sounded him out and found him amenable to the idea.

'Next time I see it around I'll try to catch it.'

'Ah, but it don't come around now. Stays in Miss Coker's shed, Bert says.'

'Well, I can't go in there after it, can I?'

'You could if you asked.'

`What, ask a favour of that old -'

'Not ask a favour. I mean, if you was to offer to do away with the cat, seeing as she hates it -'

'That'd be doing her a favor! No fear. Let her kill it herself if it bothers her so much.'

The subject was dropped from their conversation but not from Ted's mind. No one liked to think of an animal dying of slow starvation without a hand lifted to end its suffering. The trouble was, he could not take any action without approaching Miss Coker - unless he had a pretext for going into her shed without permission. Physically it was easy enough. He had only to scramble over the wall and walk in, now that the door was off. Take him less than a minute. Do it at night and ten to one she wouldn't see him or know anything about it. But if, by a flukey chance, she did, he would have to have a reason for being there; and for the life of him he couldn't think of one good enough. It was Patch who unexpectedly provided it.

The old spaniel was a surly dog, accustomed to getting his own way. He had brooded over his defeat by a flock of birds on Thursday and watched them daily as they circled over the green, growling at them, nursing his grudge.

He was watching them now from the parlour window while his owners sat by the fire and chatted over their tea.

Observing the way the birds' heads suddenly swivelled and their flight paths dropped lower he knew that they had spotted someone approaching with food. It was Joey Reece who came trudging past the Mostyns' window carrying a left-over slice of bread pudding, his pink face framed in a bala­clava, his boots crunching the hard-packed snow.

Joey had discovered that if you threw a piece of bread, or suet crust, into the air the gulls would dive and catch it before it touched the ground. He was fascinated by the speed and beauty of the dive and the sun-dazzle on their wings as they soared up again. The rooks were not so clever as the gulls. They only got the few bits that fell uncaught and then had to fight to keep them.

Patch's eyes followed Joey down to the green, watching with intense interest till the food had been consumed and Joey, blowing on his frozen fingers, had run back home. Then he went to the door and whined to be let out.

Several of the rooks were strutting about search­ing for crumbs and did not notice Patch till he had stolen close. Then one of them turned and saw him. It sprang into the air with a squawk and Patch leapt after it. Somewhat to his surprise he caught it, sinking his teeth into the muscle of one of its wings. It threshed and screamed, twisted its head round and pecked his face, but he held on, making full use of his powerful jaws and heavy body.

Having caught the bird he didn't know really what to do next. He couldn't finish it off without letting go of it, and its sharp beak was jabbing painfully at his nose. He began to drag it aimlessly in the direction of the cottages. By this time dusk was falling and curtains were being drawn over the lighted windows. While Mrs.. Mostyn was drawing hers she caught sight of her dog going by carrying something black and struggling, which squawked like a fowl.

`Come here, Ted, quick. There goes our Patch. Whatever's that he's got in his mouth?'

Ted peered out. As he did so Patch disappeared round the end of the building.

'I didn't get sight of it for long enough to be certain,' Ted said, `but it looked uncommon like Maggie Trim's little black bantam cock.'

'I thought so too. 'Twouldn't be the first time he's caught it, the old rascal. And I can't say I blame him. It taunts him something dreadful.'

`She should clip its wings so it can't get out of the run.'

'That's what I'm always telling her.'

`I'd better go after him,' Ted said. `Be too bad if he killed it, today of all days.'

'Certainly would - specially as he growled at her this morning. His temper's getting worse and worse.'

Without waiting to put on his greatcoat Ted dashed out. He could hardly see the dog, the light was going so fast. But the dark parts of its coat showed up sufficiently against the snow to enable him to follow. He saw with consternation that Patch was making for Miss Coker's garden gate.

The dog squeezed under it and Ted vaulted over in hot pursuit. A pathway led from the front garden to the yard at the back of Miss Coker's cottage and it was somewhere along here that Patch dropped his burden. The bird flapped and scrambled away, and Ted to his relief recognized it for what it was. He called Patch to him with a low whistle and lifted him over the wall. He was about to climb after him when he remembered the conversation he had been having with his wife only ten minutes earlier. Here he was, standing right outside the coal shed. He stooped and looked in. There was just enough light coming through the doorway to reveal a small dark shape lying on a sack at the rear. It was alive, he could tell by the gleam of the eyes. The chance he was offered seemed so miraculously opportune that he could hardly refuse it.

He walked in, bending his head under the low beams, and made his way past the bicycle and other objects till he was standing over the kitten. It made no move to get away from him but raised its head and looked into his face. He reached down, then drew back his hand. Why was he hesitating? It was such a scrap of a thing. One quick blow behind the head with the heel of his hand and it would be finished with, and no one the wiser.

The trouble was that with those eyes looking at him he simply couldn't do it. The kittens he had made away with at the farm had been so newly born that they were barely alive. Their unopened eyes saved them from recognizing the threat he represented. This one knew. He had no doubt of that. And because he couldn't face that recognition he backed away out of the shed.

`You gurt fool,' he muttered to himself as he scaled the wall and walked back to his cottage with his dog beside him. `You mushy-hearted fool! You're as bad as Bert.'

That same evening Miss Coker discovered that the kitten had returned to her shed. She made no further attempt to drive it away, but this did not mean that her resistance had lessened. On the contrary, it had hardened, as a result of Bert Reece's impudence.

During the next two days she made a determined effort to forget the whole tiresome matter, and was both annoyed and perplexed to find that she could not do so.

At frequent intervals while she sat by the fire, her slippered foot on the hearth, the image of the striped kitten came between her and the book on her lap. She saw it, as she had seen it for the last three mornings, lying on the sack at the back of the shed, quietly waiting. Waiting for what? For death?

Again she tried to thrust it from her mind. After all, she had been told that it was getting food, and now it had shelter as well. Many a stray was worse off. All the same, there was a disturbing factor somewhere. She couldn't identify it but neither could she be rid of it. It was with her now, niggling like a toothache. Something to do with - oh, what­ever was it? Well, no matter. It couldn't be of any importance. She switched on her radio for the six o'clock news.

`In many parts of the country fresh snow has fallen,' said the bland voice of the announcer. `Road and rail services are not yet affected and with only one more shopping day to Christmas the traffic has been heavier than -'

Miss Coker switched off. But her hand stayed on the knob, halted there by a thought that had suddenly come to her. In this district there had been a further slight fall of snow forty-eight hours ago, but none since. The nagging unease at the back of her mind had some connection with this. Knowing that she would not be able to enjoy her book until she had made a last effort to get rid of the aggravation she picked up a torch and went out through the kitchen door into the yard.

HAVE A HEART? NEVER!