There's all that cats' home money in the bank.

We can take as much of it as we want, and pay it back by degrees." "No, we can't," said the Terror firmly.

"We're not going to use that money for anything but the cats' home.

I promised Mum I wouldn't.
Besides, she'd like the stole ever so much better if we'd really earned it ourselves." "But we shan't," said Erebus gloomily.

"If we sold all the kittens, it will only make twenty-three shillings." "Then we must find something else to sell," said the Terror with decision.
His mind was running on this line, when a quarter of a mile from Little Deeping they came upon Tom Cobb leaning over a gate surveying a field of mangel-wurzel with vacant amiability.
Tom Cobb was the one villager they respected; and he and they were very good friends.