Tremont crouched down when he’d stepped free of the ladder. “On my back, and latch on like an organ grinder’s monkey. If we bungle this, your mother will never let us live it down.”

“You won’t tell Mama I’m afraid? I went up all right, but when I looked down, my insides felt all funny, and the ladder made such an awful racket.”

“The ladder is none the worse for its ordeal, and neither shall you be. Grab hold of me, and we’ll be on the ground in no time.”

The boy held tightly, and the ladder took their weight. Tremont had barely divested himself of the child before Mrs. Merridew thrust two stone of feline malevolence at him. He grabbed at the cat, who managed to dig twenty saber-sharp claws into his chest at once. Tremont then suffered one fabulously rotten feline breath full in the face and a near swipe to his chin, before the beast leaped free and disappeared up the ladder into the hayloft.

“I wasn’t lost, Mama,” Tommie said as Mrs. Merridew knelt to hug him. “The sweeps didn’t get me. I was looking for a string, and I got stuck.”

“You were smart not to jump,” Mrs. Merridew said, brushing the hair from Tommie’s eyes. “You could have broken a leg if you’d attempted to make that leap. I am very proud of your common sense, Thomas Merridew, but in the future, if you’re inclined to go on a treasure hunt, you must tell me first, please.”

Tremont could read Tommie’s thoughts from the boy’s expression. I was only in the stable. I would have yelled for help soon. I’m fine, Mama. Tremont caught Tommie’s eye and arched one eyebrow in a fashion that Lydia claimed made him look like his father.

“Yes, Mama,” Tommie muttered, “but you cannot name that cat anything silly. He won’t like it.”

“What about Lancelot?” Tremont said, assisting Mrs. Merridew to rise. “That’s a fine name for a fellow who’s a favorite with the ladies.”

“Was Lancelot fierce?” Tommie asked.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. Not always as chivalrous as he should have been, but brave and shrewd.”

“What’s shrivelrous?” Tommie asked.

“Honorable,” his mother said, brushing at his bangs again. “Gentlemanly. Lancelot sometimes broke the rules, and he wasn’t the most loyal friend to Arthur.”

“Not Lancelot,” Tommie said. “Arthur. The cat is Arthur, like the magical king.”

“Or the king with the magical sword,” Tremont muttered. “Into the house with you, Thomas. You will be surprised to learn that half the regiment was searching for you, and the ladies as well. You gave your mother quite a turn.”

This gentle scold produced a look of perplexity from the boy.