And nobody laughed. The situation, full of grey mewing cats, was
too serious for that. Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to
milk the cow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of
her hand and trampled on it with one foot, while with the other
three she had walked on a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane.
Jane burst into tears. 'Oh, how much too horrid everything is!'
she cried. 'Come away. Let's go to bed and leave the horrid cats
with the hateful cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else.
And serve them right.'
They did not go to bed, but they had a shivering council in the
drawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay
in the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother
went away, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places,
and the chrysanthemums were dead, and the water in the pot nearly
dried up. Anthea wrapped the embroidered woolly sofa blanket round
Jane and herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and
brief, but fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug.
'It is most truly awful,' said Anthea, 'and I am so tired. Let's
let the cats loose.'
'And the cow, perhaps?' said Cyril. 'The police would find us at
once. That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to
come in.
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