Ursula was impressed.  “It is the most wonderful thing!” Then a shadow of trouble came into her face, for her superstitions were aroused, and she reluctantly put the creature down, saying:  “I suppose I must let it go; I am not afraid—­no, not exactly that, though the priest—­well, I’ve heard people—­indeed, many people...  And, besides, it is quite well now and can take care of itself.”  She sighed, and turned to go, murmuring:  “It is such a pretty one, too, and would be such company—­and the house is so sad and lonesome these troubled days...  Miss Marget so mournful and just a shadow, and the old master shut up in jail.”

“It seems a pity not to keep it,” said Satan.

Ursula turned quickly—­just as if she were hoping some one would encourage her.

“Why?” she asked, wistfully.

“Because this breed brings luck.”

“Does it?  Is it true?  Young man, do you know it to be true?  How does it bring luck?”

“Well, it brings money, anyway.”

Ursula looked disappointed.  “Money?  A cat bring money?  The idea!  You could never sell it here; people do not buy cats here; one can’t even give them away.”  She turned to go.

“I don’t mean sell it.  I mean have an income from it.  This kind is called the Lucky Cat.  Its owner finds four silver groschen in his pocket every morning.”

I saw the indignation rising in the old woman’s face.  She was insulted.  This boy was making fun of her.  That was her thought.  She thrust her hands into her pockets and straightened up to give him a piece of her mind.  Her temper was all up, and hot.  Her mouth came open and let out three words of a bitter sentence,... then it fell silent, and the anger in her face turned to surprise or wonder or fear, or something, and she slowly brought out her hands from her pockets and opened them and held them so.  In one was my piece of money, in the other lay four silver groschen.  She gazed a little while, perhaps to see if the groschen would vanish away; then she said, fervently: 

“It’s true—­it’s true—­and I’m ashamed and beg forgiveness, O dear master and benefactor!” And she ran to Satan and kissed his hand, over and over again, according to the Austrian custom.

In her heart she probably believed it was a witch-cat and an agent of the Devil; but no matter, it was all the more certain to be able to keep its contract and furnish a daily good living for the family, for in matters of finance even the piousest of our peasants would have more confidence in an arrangement with the Devil than with an archangel.  Ursula started homeward, with Agnes in her arms, and I said I wished I had her privilege of seeing Marget.