On Friday he moped and refused his saucer of new milk at milking time . The next morning he stretched himself down on the platform by Uncle Roger 's back door , laid his head on his black paws , and refused to take any notice of anything or anybody . In vain we stroked and entreated and brought him tidbits . Only when the Story Girl caressed him did he give one plaintive little mew , as if to ask piteously why she could not do something for him . At that Cecily and Felicity and Sara Ray all began crying , and we boys felt choky . Indeed , I caught Peter behind Aunt Olivia 's dairy later in the day , and if ever a boy had been crying I vow that boy was Peter . Nor did he deny it when I taxed him with it , but he would not give in that he was crying about Paddy . Nonsense ! `` What were you crying for , then ? '' I said . `` I 'm crying because -- because my Aunt Jane is dead , '' said Peter defiantly . `` But your Aunt Jane died two years ago , '' I said skeptically . `` Well , ai n't that all the more reason for crying ? '' retorted Peter . `` I 've had to do without her for two years , and that 's worse than if it had just been a few days . '' `` I believe you were crying because Pat is so sick , '' I said firmly . `` As if I 'd cry about a cat ! '' scoffed Peter . And he marched off whistling . Of course we had tried the lard and powder treatment again , smearing Pat 's paws and sides liberally .
But to our dismay , Pat made no effort XXXXX lick it off .
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