The Kitchen Cat, and other stories, by Amy Walton. ________________________________________________________________________There are three short stories in this little book, of which the firstis by far the longest. Ruth is a poor little rich girl. Her motherhad died some time before, and she lives with her father, a lawyer, andan incredibly stupid, though outwardly competent, Nurse. One day shediscovers that there is a thin, unfed cat also living in the house. She befriends it, despite Nurse. She becomes very ill for a week orso. Her father discovers her love for the cat, and it is elevated tobeing the House Cat. In the second story, a "toy" dog is missing. When the dog, Sarah, isfound, she tells her young mistress of her adventures. In the third and last story, two young girls are seeing what they canfind near a pond. A toad is discovered, and he explains to them thathe lives in a hole, which is well covered up, so that he cannot seeout. He says that some toads' holes are uncomfortable while some arenice and snug. The girls' attendant, Miss Grey, points out the moral, that we all live in holes of our own making, some of which arecomfortable, and some not, but out of which we cannot easily see howother people are living. ________________________________________________________________THE KITCHEN CAT, AND OTHER STORIES, BY AMY WALTON. CHAPTER ONE. THE VISITOR FROM THE CELLAR. The whole house in London was dull and gloomy, its lofty rooms andstaircases were filled with a sort of misty twilight all day, and thesun very seldom looked in at its windows. Ruth Lorimer thought, however, that the very dullest room of all was the nursery, in which shehad to pass so much of her time. It was so high up that the people andcarts and horses in the street below looked like toys. She could noteven see these properly, because there were iron bars to prevent herfrom stretching her head out too far, so that all she could do was tolook straight across to the row of tall houses opposite, or up at thesky between the chimney-pots. How she longed for something different tolook at! The houses always looked the same, and though the sky changed sometimes, it was often of a dirty grey colour, and then Ruth gave a little sighand looked back from the window-seat where she was kneeling, into thenursery, for something to amuse her. It was full of all sorts of toys--dolls, and dolls' houses elegantly furnished, pictures and books andmany pretty things; but in spite of all these she often found nothing toplease her, for what she wanted more than anything else was a companionof her own age, and she had no brothers or sisters. The dolls, however much she pretended, were never glad, or sorry, orhappy, or miserable--they could not answer her when she talked to them, and their beautiful bright eyes had a hard unfeeling look which becamevery tiring, for it never changed. There was certainly Nurse Smith. She was alive and real enough; therewas no necessity to "pretend" anything about her. She was always there, sitting upright and flat-backed beside her work-basket, frowning alittle, not because she was cross, but because she was rathernear-sighted. She had come when Ruth was quite a baby, after MrsLorimer's death, and Aunt Clarkson often spoke of her as "a treasure. "However that might be, she was not an amusing companion; though she didher best to answer all Ruth's questions, and was always careful of hercomfort, and particular about her being neatly dressed. Perhaps it was not her fault that she did not understand games, and wasquite unable to act the part of any other character than her own. Ifshe did make the attempt, she failed so miserably that Ruth had to tellher what to say, which made it so flat and uninteresting that she foundit better to play alone. But she often became weary of this; and therewere times when she was tired of her toys, and tired of Nurse Smith, anddid not know what in the world to do with herself. Each day passed much in the same way. Ruth's governess came to teachher for an hour every morning, and then after her early dinner there wasa walk with Nurse, generally in one direction. And after tea it wastime to go and see her father--quite a long journey, through the silenthouse, down the long stairs to the dining-room where he sat alone at hisdessert. Ruth could not remember her mother, and she saw so little of her fatherthat he seemed almost a stranger to her. He was so wonderfully busy, and the world he lived in was such a great way off from hers in thenursery. In the morning he hurried away just as she was at her breakfast, and allshe knew of him was the resounding slam of the hall door, which cameechoing up the staircase. Very often in the evening he came hastilyinto the nursery to say good-bye on his way out to some dinner-party, and at night she woke up to hear his step on the stairs as he came backlate. But when he dined at home Ruth always went downstairs to dessert. Then, as she entered the large sombre dining-room, where there weregreat oil paintings on the walls and heavy hangings to the windows, andserious-looking ponderous furniture, her father would look up from hisbook, or from papers spread on the table, and nod kindly to her: "Ah! It's you, Ruth. Quite well, eh? There's a good child. Have anorange? That's right. " Then he would plunge into his reading again, and Ruth would climb slowlyon to a great mahogany chair placed ready for her, and watch him as shecut up her orange. She wondered very much why people wrote him such long, long letters, allon blue paper and tied up with pink tape. She felt sure they were notnice letters, for his face always looked worried over them; and when hehad finished he threw them on the floor, as though he were glad. Thismade her so curious that she once ventured to ask him what they were. They were called "briefs", he told her. But she was not much wiser;for, hearing from Nurse Smith that "brief" was another word for short, she felt sure there must be some mistake. Exactly as the clock struck eight Nurse's knock came at the door, Ruthgot down from her chair and said good-night. Sometimes her father was so deeply engaged in his reading that he staredat her with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he scarcely knew who shewas. After a minute he said absently: "Bed-time, eh? Good-night. Good-night, my dear. " Sometimes when he was a little less absorbed heput a sixpence or a shilling into her hand as he kissed her, and added:"There's something to spend at the toy-shop. " Ruth received these presents without much surprise or joy. She was usedto buying things, and did not find it very interesting; for she couldnot hope for any sign of pleasure from her dolls when she brought themnew clothes or furniture. It is a little dull when all one's efforts for people are received witha perfectly unmoved face. She had once brought Nurse Smith a smallchina image, hoping that it would be an agreeable surprise; but that hadnot been successful either. "Lor', my dear, don't you go spending yourmoney on me, " she said. "Chany ornaments ain't much good for anything, to my thinking, 'cept to ketch the dust. " Thus it came to pass that Ruth never talked much about what interestedher either to her father or to Nurse Smith, and as she had no brothersand sisters she was obliged to amuse herself with fancied conversations. Sometimes these were carried on with her dolls, but her chief friendwas a picture which she passed every night on the staircase. It was ofa man in a flat cap and a fur robe, and he had a pointed smooth chin andnarrow eyes, which seemed to follow her slyly on her way. She did notlike him and she did not actually fear him, but she had a feeling thathe listened to what she said, and that she must tell him any news shehad. There was never much except on "Aunt Clarkson's day", as shecalled it. Aunt Clarkson was her father's sister. She lived in the country, andhad many little boys and girls whom Ruth had seldom seen, though sheheard a great deal about them. Once every month this aunt came up to London for the day, had longconversations with Nurse, and looked carefully at all Ruth's clothes. She was a sharp-eyed lady, and her visits made a stir in the house whichwas like a cold wind blowing, so that Ruth was glad when they were over, though her aunt always spoke kindly to her, and said: "Some day you mustcome and see your little cousins in the country. " She had said this so often without its having happened, however, thatRuth had come to look upon it as a mere form of speech--part of AuntClarkson's visit, like saying "How d'ye do?" or "Good-bye. " It was shortly after one of these occasions that quite by chance Ruthfound a new friend, who was better than either the dolls or the man inthe picture, because, though it could not answer her, it was reallyalive. She discovered it in this way. One afternoon she and Nurse Smith had come in from their usual walk, andwere toiling slowly up from the hall to the nursery. The stairs gotsteeper at the last flight, and Nurse went more slowly still, and panteda good deal, for she was stouter than she need have been, though Ruthwould never have dreamed of saying so. Ruth was in front, and she hadnearly reached the top when something came hurrying towards her whichsurprised her very much. It was a long, lean, grey cat. It had aguilty look, as though it knew it had been trespassing, and squeezeditself as close as it could against the wall as it passed. "Pretty puss!" said Ruth softly, and put out her hand to stop it. The cat at once arched up its back and gave a friendly little answeringmew. Ruth wondered where it came from. It was ugly, she thought, butit seemed a pleasant cat and glad to be noticed. She rubbed its headgently. It felt hard and rough like Nurse's old velvet bonnet; therewas indeed no sleekness about it anywhere, and it was so thin that itssides nearly met. "Poor puss!" said Ruth stroking it tenderly. The cat replied by pushing its head gently against her arm, andpresently began a low purring song. Delighted, Ruth bent her ear tolisten. "Whoosh! Shish! Get along! Scat!" suddenly sounded from a few stepsbelow. Nurse's umbrella was violently flourished, the cat flewdownstairs with a spit like an angry firework, and Ruth turned roundindignantly. "You _shouldn't_ have done that, " she said, stamping her foot; "I wantedto talk to it. Whose is it?" "It's that nasty kitchen cat, " said Nurse, much excited, and graspingher umbrella spitefully. "I'm not going to have it prowling about on mylanding. An ugly thieving thing, as has no business above stairs atall. " Ruth pressed her face against the balusters. In the distance below shecould see the small grey form of the kitchen cat making its way swiftlyand silently downstairs. It went so fast that it seemed to float ratherthan to run, and was soon out of sight. "I should like to have played with it up in the nursery, " she said, witha sigh, as she continued her way. "I wish you hadn't frightened itaway. " "Lor', Miss Ruth, my dear, " answered Nurse, "what can a little lady likeyou want with a nasty, low, kitchen cat! Come up and play with some ofyour beautiful toys, there's a dear! Do. " Nevertheless Ruth thought about the cat a great deal that afternoon, andthe toys seemed even less interesting than usual. When tea was over, and Nurse had taken up her sewing again, she began to make a fewinquiries. "Where does that cat live?" she asked. "In the kitchen, to be sure, " said Nurse; "and the cellar, andcoal-hole, and such like. Alonger the rats and mice--and the beadles, "she added, as an after-thought. "The beadles!" repeated Ruth doubtfully. "_What_ beadles?" "Why, the _black_ beadles, to be sure, " replied Nurse cheerfully. Ruth was silent. It seemed dismal company for the kitchen cat. Thenshe said: "Are there many of them?" "Swarms!" said Nurse, breaking off her thread with a snap. "Thekitchen's black with 'em at night. " What a dreadful picture! "Who feeds the cat?" asked Ruth again. "Oh, I don't suppose nobody _feeds_ it, " answered Nurse. "It lives onwhat it ketches every now and then. " No wonder it looked thin! Poor kitchen cat! How very miserable andlonely it must be with no one to take care of it, and how dreadful forit to have such nasty things to eat! And the supply even of these mustbe short sometimes, Ruth went on to consider. What did it do when itcould find no more mice or rats? Of the beetles she could not bear evento think. As she turned these things seriously over in her mind shebegan to wish she could do something to alter them, to make the cat'slife more comfortable and pleasant. If she could have it to _live_ withher in the nursery for instance, she could give it some of her own breadand milk, and part of her own dinner; then it would get fatter andperhaps prettier too. She would tie a ribbon round its neck, and itshould sleep in a basket lined with red flannel, and never be scolded orchased about or hungry any more. All these pictures were suddenlydestroyed by Nurse's voice: "But I hope you'll not encourage it up here, Miss Ruth, for I couldn'tabide it, and I'm sure your Aunt Clarkson wouldn't approve of itneither. I've had a horror of cats myself from a gal. They're thatstealthy and treacherous, you never know where they mayn't be hiding, orwhen they won't spring out at you. If ever I catch it up here I shallbannock it down again. " There was evidently no sympathy to be looked for from Nurse Smith; butRuth was used to keeping her thoughts and plans to herself, and did notmiss it much. As she could not talk about it, however, she thought ofher new acquaintance all the more; it was indeed seldom out of her mind, and while she seemed to be quietly amusing herself in her usual way, shewas occupied with all sorts of plans and arrangements for the cat whenit should come to live in the nursery. Meanwhile it was widelyseparated from her; how could she let it know that she wanted to see itagain? When she went up and down stairs she peered and peeped about tosee if she could catch a glimpse of its hurrying grey figure, and shenever came in from a walk without expecting to meet it on her way to thenursery. But she never did. The kitchen cat kept to its own quartersand its own society. Perhaps it had been too often "bannocked" downagain to venture forth. And yet Ruth felt sure that it had been gladwhen she had spoken kindly to it. What a pity that Nurse did not likecats! She confided all this as usual to the man in the picture, who receivedit with his narrow observant glance and seemed to give it seriousconsideration. Perhaps it was he who at last gave her a splendid idea, which she hastened to carry out as well as she could, though rememberingNurse's strong expression of dislike she felt obliged to do so with thegreatest secrecy. As a first step, she examined the contents of her little red purse. Awhole shilling, a sixpence, and a threepenny bit. That would be morethan enough. Might they go to some shops that afternoon, she asked, when she and Nurse were starting for their walk. "To be sure, Miss Ruth; and what sort of shops do you want? Toy-shops, I suppose. " "N-no, " said Ruth; "I think not. It must be somewhere where they sellnote-paper, and a baker's, I _think_; but I'm not quite sure. " Arrived at the stationer's, Ruth was a long time before deciding on whatshe would have; but at last, after the woman had turned over a wholeboxful, she came to some pink note-paper with brightly painted heads ofanimals upon it, and upon the envelopes also. "Oh!" cried Ruth when she saw it, clasping her hands with delight. "_That_ would do beautifully. Only--_have_ you any with a cat?" Yes, there _was_ some with a nice fluffy cat upon it, and she left theshop quite satisfied with her first purchase. "And now, " said Nurse briskly, whose patience had been a good dealtried, "we must make haste back, it's getting late. " But Ruth had still something on her mind. She _must_ go to one moreshop, she said, though she did not know exactly which. At last shefixed on a baker's. "What should you think, " she asked on the way, "that a cat likes to eatbetter than anything in the world?" "Why, a mouse to be sure, " answered Nurse promptly. "Well, but _next_ to mice?" persisted Ruth. "Fish, " said Nurse Smith. "That would never do, " thought Ruth to herself as she looked at afish-shop they were passing. "It's so wet and slippery I couldn'tpossibly carry it home. Perhaps Nurse doesn't _really_ know what catslike best. Anyhow, I'm sure it's never tasted anything so nice as aBath bun. " A Bath bun was accordingly bought, carried home, and putcarefully away in the doll's house. And now Ruth felt that she had animportant piece of business before her. She spread out a sheet of thenew writing-paper on the window-seat, knelt in front of it with a pencilin her hand, and ruled some lines. She could not write very well, andwas often uncertain how to spell even short words; so she bit the end ofher pencil and sighed a good deal before the letter was finished. Atlast it was done, and put into the envelope. But now came a newdifficulty: How should it be addressed? After much thought she wrotethe following: The Kitchen Cat, The Kitchen, 17 Gower Street. CHAPTER TWO. HER BEST FRIEND. After this letter had been dropped into the pillar-box just in front ofthe house, Ruth began to look out still more eagerly for the kitchencat, but days passed and she caught no glimpse of it anywhere. It was disappointing, and troublesome too, because she had to carry theBath bun about with her so long. Not only was it getting hard and dry, but it was such an awkward thing for her pocket that she had torn herfrock in the effort to force it in. "You might a' been carrying brick-bats about with you, Miss Ruth, " saidNurse, "by the way you've slit your pocket open. " This went on till Ruth began to despair. "I'll try it one moreevening, " she said to herself, "and if it doesn't come then I shall giveit up. " Once more, therefore, when she was ready to go downstairs, she took thebun out of the dolls' house, where she kept it wrapped up in tissuepaper, and squeezed it into her pocket. Rather hopelessly, but stillkeeping a careful look-out, she proceeded slowly on her way, whenbehold, just as she reached the top of the last flight, a littlecringing grey figure crossed the hall below. "It's come!" she exclaimed in an excited whisper. "It's come at last!" But though it had come, it seemed now the cat's greatest desire to go, for it was hurrying towards the kitchen stairs. "Puss! Puss!" called out Ruth in an entreating voice as she hastily randown. "Stop a minute! _Pretty_ puss!" Startled at the noise and the patter of the quick little feet, the catpaused in its flight and turned its scared yellow-green eyes upon Ruth. She had now reached the bottom step, where she stood struggling to getthe Bath bun out of her small pocket, her face pink with the effort andanxiety lest the cat should go before she succeeded. "_Pretty_ puss!" she repeated as she tugged at the parcel. "Don't goaway. " One more desperate wrench, which gashed open the corner of the pocket, and the bun was out. The cat looked on with one paw raised, ready tofly at the first sign of danger, as with trembling fingers Ruth managedto break a piece off the horny surface. She held it out. The cat camenearer, sniffed at it suspiciously, and then to her great joy took themorsel, crouched down, and munched it up. "How good it must taste, " shethought, "after the mice and rats. " By degrees it was induced to make further advances, and before long tocome on to the step where Ruth sat, and make a hearty meal of the bunwhich she crumbled up for it. "I'm afraid it's dry, " she said; "but I couldn't bring any milk, youknow, and you must get some water afterwards. " The cat seemed to understand, and replied by pushing its head againsther, and purred loudly. How thin it was! Ruth wondered as she lookedgravely at it whether it would soon be fatter if she fed it every day. She became so interested in talking to it, and watching its behaviour, that she nearly forgot she had to go into the dining-room, and jumped upwith a start. "Good-night, " she said. "If you'll come again I'll bring you somethingelse another day. " She looked back as she turned the handle of theheavy door. The cat was sitting primly upright on the step washing itsface after its meal. "I expect it doesn't feel so hungry now, " thoughtRuth as she went into the room. The acquaintance thus fairly begun was soon followed by other meetings, and the cat was often in the hall when Ruth came downstairs, though itdid not appear every evening. The uncertainty of this was mostexciting, and "Will it be there to-night?" was her frequent thoughtduring the day. As time went on, and they grew to know each otherbetter, she began to find the kitchen cat a far superior companion toeither her dolls or the man in the picture. True, it could not answerher any more than they did--in words, but it had a language of its ownwhich she understood perfectly. She knew when it was pleased, and whenit said "Thank you" for some delicacy she brought for it; its yelloweyes beamed with sympathy and interest when she described the delightsof that beautiful life it would enjoy in the nursery; and when shepitied it for the darkness of its present dwelling below, she knew itunderstood by the way it rubbed against her and arched up its back. There were many more pleasures in each day now that she had made thisacquaintance. Shopping became interesting, because she could lookforward to the cat's surprise and enjoyment when the parcel was openedin the evening; everything that happened was treasured up to tell itwhen they met, or, if it was not there, to write to it on the pinknote-paper; the very smartest sash belonging to her best doll was takento adorn the cat's thin neck; and the secrecy which surrounded all thismade it doubly delightful. Ruth had never been a greedy child, and ifNurse Smith wondered sometimes that she now spent all her money oncakes, she concluded that they must be for a dolls' feast, and troubledherself no further. Miss Ruth was always so fond of "making believe. "So things went on very quietly and comfortably, and though Ruth couldnot discover that the kitchen cat got any fatter, it had certainlyimproved in some ways since her attentions. Its face had lost itsscared look, and it no longer crept about as close to the ground aspossible, but walked with an assured tread and its tail held high. Itcould never be a pretty cat to the general eye, but when it cametrotting noiselessly to meet Ruth, uttering its short mew of welcome, she thought it beautiful, and would not have changed it for thesleekest, handsomest cat in the kingdom. But it was the kitchen cat still. All this did not bring it one stepnearer to the nursery. It must still live, Ruth often thought withsorrow, amongst the rats and mice and beetles. Nothing could everhappen which would induce Nurse Smith to allow it to come upstairs. Andyet something did happen which brought this very thing to pass in astrange way which would never have entered her mind. The spring came on with a bright sun and cold sharp winds, and one dayRuth came in from her walk feeling shivery and tired. She could not eather dinner, and her head had a dull ache in it, and she thought shewould like to go to bed. She did not feel ill, she said, but she wasfirst very hot and then very cold. Nurse Smith sent for the doctor; andhe came and looked kindly at her, and felt her pulse and said she muststay in bed and he would send some medicine. And she went to sleep, andhad funny dreams in which she plainly saw the kitchen cat dressed inAunt Clarkson's bonnet and cloak. It stood by her bed and talked inAunt Clarkson's voice, and she saw its grey fur paws under the folds ofthe cloak. She wished it would go away, and wondered how she could havebeen so fond of it. When Nurse came to give her something she saidfeebly: "Send the cat away. " "Bless you, my dear, there's no cat here, " she answered. "There'snobody been here but me and Mrs Clarkson. " At last there came a day when she woke up from a long sleep and foundthat the pain in her head was gone, and that the things in the roomwhich had been taking all manner of queer shapes looked all right again. "And how do you feel, Miss Ruth, my dear?" asked Nurse, who sat sewingby the bedside. "I'm quite well, thank you, " said Ruth. "Why am I in bed in the middleof the day?" "Well, you haven't been just quite well, you know, " said Nurse. "Haven't I?" said Ruth. She considered this for some time, and whenNurse came to her with some beef-tea in her hand, she asked: "Have I been in bed more than a day?" "You've been in bed a week, " said Nurse. "But you'll get along finelynow, and be up and about again in no time. " Ruth drank her beef-tea and thought it over. Suddenly she dropped herspoon into the cup. The kitchen cat! How it must have missed her ifshe had been in bed a week. Unable to bear the idea in silence, she satup in bed with a flushed face and asked eagerly: "Have you seen the cat?" Nurse instantly rose with a concerned expression, and patted hersoothingly on the shoulder. "There now, my dear, we won't have any more fancies about cats and such. You drink your beef-tea up and I'll tell you something pretty. " Ruth took up her spoon again. It was of no use to talk to Nurse aboutit, but it was dreadful to think how disappointed the cat must have beenevening after evening. Meanwhile Nurse went on in a coaxing tone: "If so be as you make haste and get well, you're to go alonger me andstay with your Aunt Clarkson in the country. There now!" Ruth received the news calmly. It did not seem a very pleasantprospect, or even a very real one to her. "There'll be little boys and girls to play with, " pursued Nurse, tryingto heighten the picture; "and flowers--and birds and such--and medders, and a garding, and all manner. " But nothing could rouse Ruth to more than a very languid interest inthese delights. Her thoughts were all with her little frienddownstairs; and she felt certain that it had often been hungry, and nodoubt thought very badly of her for her neglect. If she could only seeit and explain that it had not been her fault! The next day Aunt Clarkson herself came. She always had a great deal onher mind when she came up to town, and liked to get through her shoppingin time to go back in the afternoon, so she could never stay long withRuth. She came bustling in, looking very strong, and speaking in a loudcheerful voice, and all the while she was there she gave quick glancesround her at everything in the room. Ruth was well enough to be up, andwas sitting in a big chair by the nursery fire, with picture-books andtoys near; but she was not looking at them. Her eyes were fixedthoughtfully on the fire, and her mind was full of the kitchen cat. Shehad tried to write to it, but the words would not come, and her fingerstrembled so much that she could not hold the pencil straight. Thevexation and disappointment of this had made her head ache, andaltogether she presented rather a mournful little figure. "Well, Nurse, and how are we going on?" said Aunt Clarkson, sitting downin the chair Nurse placed for her. Remembering her dream, Ruth couldnot help giving a glance at Aunt Clarkson's hands. They were fat, roundhands, and she kept them doubled up, so that they really looked ratherlike a cat's paws. "Well, ma'am, " replied Nurse, "Miss Ruth's better; but she's not, so tosay, as cheerful as I could wish. Still a few _fancies_, ma'am, " sheadded in an undertone which Ruth heard perfectly. "Fancies, eh?" repeated Aunt Clarkson in her most cheerful voice. "Oh, we shall get rid of them at Summerford. You'll have real things to playwith there, Ruth, you know. Lucy, and Cissie, and Bobbie will be betterthan fancies, won't they?" Ruth gave a faint little nod. She did not know what her aunt meant by"fancies. " The cat was quite as real as Lucy, or Cissie, or Bobbie. Should she ask her about it, or did she hate cats like Nurse Smith? Shegazed wistfully at Mrs Clarkson's face, who had now drawn a list fromher pocket, and was running through the details half aloud with anabsorbed frown. "I shall wait and see the doctor, Nurse, " she said presently; "and if hecomes soon I shall _just_ get through my business, and catch the threeo'clock express. " No, it would be of no use, Ruth concluded, as she let her head falllanguidly back against the pillow--Aunt Clarkson was far too busy tothink about the cat. Fortunately for her business, the doctor did not keep her waiting long. Ruth was better, he said, and all she wanted now was cheering up alittle--she looked dull and moped. "If she could have a little friend, now, to see her, or a cheerful companion, " glancing at Nurse Smith, "itwould have a good effect. " He withdrew with Mrs Clarkson to the door, and they continued theconversation in low tones, so that only scraps of it reached Ruth: "--Excitable--fanciful--too much alone--children of her own age--" Aunt Clarkson's last remark came loud and clear: "We shall cure that at Summerford, Dr Short. We're not dull peoplethere, and we've no time for fancies. " She smiled, the doctor smiled, they shook hands and both soon went away. Ruth leant her head on her hand. Was there no one who would understandhow much she wanted to see the kitchen cat? Would they all talk aboutfancies? What were Lucy and Cissie and Bobbie to her?--strangers, andthe cat was a friend. She would rather stroke its rough head, andlisten to its purring song, than have them all to play with. It was sosad to think how it must have missed her, how much she wanted to see it, and how badly her head ached, that she felt obliged to shed a few tears. Nurse discovered this with much concern. "And there was master coming up to see you to-night and all, Miss Ruth. It'll never do for him to find you crying, you know. I think you'dbetter go to bed. " Ruth looked up with a sudden gleam of hope, and checked her tears. "When is he coming?" she asked. "I want to see him. " "Well, I s'pose directly he comes home--about your tea-time. But if Ilet you sit up we mustn't have no more tears, you know, else he'll thinkyou ain't getting well. " Ruth sank quietly back among her shawls in the big chair. An idea haddarted suddenly into her mind which comforted her very much, and she wastoo busy with it to cry any more. She would ask her father! True, itwas hardly likely that he would have any thoughts to spare for such asmall thing as the kitchen cat; but still there was just a faint chancethat he would understand better than Nurse and Aunt Clarkson. So shewaited with patience, listening anxiously for his knock and the slam ofthe hall door, and at last, just as Nurse was getting the tea ready, itcame. Her heart beat fast. Soon there was a hurried step on thestairs, and her father entered the room. Ruth studied his faceearnestly. Was he tired? Was he worried? Would he stay long enough tohear the important question? He kissed her and sat down near her. "How is Miss Ruth to-day?" he said rather wearily to Nurse. Standing stiffly erect behind Ruth's chair, Nurse Smith repeated allthat the doctor and Mrs Clarkson had said. "And I think myself, sir, " she added, "that Miss Ruth will be all thebetter of a cheerful change. She worrits herself with fancies. " Ruth looked earnestly up at her father's face, but said nothing. "Worries herself?" repeated Mr Lorimer, with a puzzled frown. "Whatcan she have to worry about? Is there anything you want, my dear?" hesaid, taking hold of Ruth's little hot hand and bending over her. The moment had come. Ruth gathered all her courage, sat upright, andfixing an entreating gaze upon him said: "I want to see my best friend. " "Your best friend, eh?" he answered, smiling as if it were a very slightaffair. "One of your little cousins, I suppose? Well, you're going toSummerford, you know, and then you'll see them all. I forget theirnames. Tommie, Mary, Carry, which is it?" Ruth gave a hopeless little sigh. She was so tired of these cousins. "It's none of them, " she said shaking her head. "I don't want any ofthem. " "Who is it, then?" "It's the kitchen cat. " Mr Lorimer started back with surprise at the unexpected words. "The kitchen cat!" he repeated, looking distractedly at Nurse. "Herbest friend! What does the child mean?" "Miss Ruth has fancies, sir, " she began with a superior smile. But shedid not get far, for at that word Ruth started to her feet indesperation. "It isn't a fancy!" she cried; "it's a _real_ cat. I know it very welland it knows me. And I _do_ want to see it so. _Please_ let it come. " The last words broke off in a sob. Mr Lorimer lifted her gently on to his knee. "Where is this cat?" he said, turning to Nurse with such a frown thatRuth thought he must be angry. "Why hasn't Miss Ruth had it before ifshe wanted it?" "Well, I believe there _is_ a cat somewhere below, sir, " she replied inan injured tone; "but I'd no idea, I'm sure, that Miss Ruth wasworritting after it. To the best of my knowledge she's only seen itonce. She's so fond of making believe that it's hard to tell when she_is_ in earnest. I thought it was a kind of a fancy she got in her headwhen she was ill. " "Fetch it here at once, if you please. " Nurse hesitated. "It's hardly a fit pet for Miss Ruth, sir. " "At once, if you please, " repeated Mr Lorimer. And Nurse went. Ruth listened to this with her breath held, almost frightened at her ownsuccess. Not only was the kitchen cat to be admitted, but it was to bebrought by the very hands of Nurse herself. It was wonderful--almosttoo wonderful to be true. And now it seemed that her father wished to know how the kitchen cat hadbecome her best friend. He was very much interested in it, and shethought his face looked quite different while he listened to her to whatit looked when he was reading his papers downstairs. Finding that heasked sensible questions, and did not once say anything about "fancies", she was encouraged to tell him more and more, and at last leant her headon his shoulder and closed her eyes. It would be all right now. Shehad found someone at last who understood. The entrance of the kitchen cat shortly afterwards was neither dignifiednor comfortable, for it appeared dangling at the end of Nurse'soutstretched arm, held by the neck as far as possible from her ownperson. When it was first put down it was terrified at its newsurroundings, and it was a little painful to find that it wanted to rushdownstairs again at once, in spite of Ruth's fondest caresses. It wasMr Lorimer who came to her help, and succeeded at last in soothing itsfears and coaxing it to drink some milk, after which it settled downplacidly with her in the big chair and began its usual song ofcontentment. She examined it carefully with a grave face, and thenlooked apologetically at her father. "It doesn't look its _best_" she said. "Its paws are white _really_, but I think it's been in the coal-hole. " This seemed very likely, for not only its paws but the smart ribbon Ruthhad tied round its neck was grimy and black. "It's not _exactually_ pretty, " she continued, "but it's a _very_ nicecat. You can't think how well it knows me--generally. " Mr Lorimer studied the long lean form of the cat curiously through hiseye-glass. "You wouldn't like a white Persian kitten better for a pet--or a nicelittle dog, now?" he asked doubtfully. "Oh, _please_ not, " said Ruth with a shocked expression on her face. "Ishouldn't love it half so well, and I'm sure the kitchen cat wouldn'tlike it. " That was a wonderful evening. Everything seemed as suddenly changed asif a fairy had touched them with her wand. Not only was the kitchen catactually there in the nursery, drinking milk and eating toast, but therewas a still stranger alteration. This father was quite different to theone she had known in the dining-room downstairs, who was always readingand had no time to talk. His very face had altered, for instead oflooking grave and faraway it was full of smiles and interest. And howwell he understood about the kitchen cat! When her bed-time came heseemed quite sorry to go away, and his last words were: "Remember, Nurse, Miss Ruth is to have the cat here whenever she likesand as long as she likes. " It was all so strange that Ruth woke up the next morning with a feelingthat she had had a pleasant dream. The kitchen cat and the new fatherwould both vanish with daylight; they were "fancies", as Nurse calledthem, and not real things at all. But as the days passed and she grewstrong enough to go downstairs as usual, it was delightful to find thatthis was not the case. The new father was there still. The cat wasallowed to make a third in the party, and soon learned to take its placewith dignity and composure. But though thus honoured, it no longerreceived all Ruth's confidences. She had found a better friend. Herdifficulties, her questions, her news were all saved up for the eveningto tell her father. It was the best bit in the whole day. On one of these occasions they were all three sitting happily together, and Ruth had just put a new brass collar which her father had boughtround the cat's neck. "I don't want to go to Summerford, " she said suddenly. "I'd much ratherstay here with you. " "And the cat, " added Mr Lorimer as he kissed her. "Well, you must comeback soon and take care of us both, you know. " "You'll be kind to it when I'm gone, won't you?" said Ruth. "Because, you know, I don't think the servants _understand_ cats. They're rathersharp to it. " "It shall have dinner with me every night, " said Mr Lorimer. In this way the kitchen cat was raised from a lowly station to greathonour, and its life henceforth was one of peace and freedom. It wentwhere it would, no one questioned its right of entrance to the nurseryor dared to slight it in any way. In spite, however, of choice mealsand luxury it never grew fat, and never, except in Ruth's eyes, becamepretty. It also kept to many of its old habits, preferring liberty andthe chimney-pots at night to the softly-lined basket prepared for itsrepose. But with all its faults Ruth loved it faithfully as long as it lived, for in her own mind she felt that she owed it a great deal. She remembered that evening when, a lonely little child, she had calledit her "best friend. " Perhaps she would not have discovered so soonthat she had a better friend still, without the kitchen cat. CHAPTER THREE. "Who saw Sarah last?" It was Hester who had seen her last when she had said good-bye to afriend at the hall door. That was at eleven o'clock in the morning; nowit was one o'clock in the afternoon, and there was no Sarah to be foundanywhere. Not in the nursery, not in any of the bedrooms, not upstairs, not downstairs; every hole and corner and crevice much too small to hideSarah was thoroughly searched. Her name was called in the fondest tonesby every member of the family from father and mother down to littleDiana, and by all the servants, but there was no answer. There could beno doubt about it--Sarah was lost! Little Diana was heart-broken. It was dreadful to think of Sarah outalone in the noisy London streets, where she knew no one and no onewould know her, where she would soon get confused and lose her way, andwhere all the houses looked so much alike that she would never, never beable to find her home again. Perhaps even some wicked person mightsteal Sarah, or she might be run over by a carriage, or bitten by a dog, or--there were no end of misfortunes which might happen to her, for itmade it all the more sad to remember that Sarah could not speak. Who was Sarah? Perhaps you may have been thinking that she was a little girl. Nothingof the kind. She was the dearest little dog in the world, with a yellowand white silky coat, and a very turned-up nose, and goggling, affectionate dark eyes. She was a gay-tempered little creature, full ofplayful coaxing ways, and a great pet with everyone; but she was fondestof her mistress, Diana. She went everywhere with her, knew her stepfrom that of any of the other children, and would prick up her ears andlisten for it a long way off. Her whole name was "Sarah, Duchess ofMarlborough", and she was a Blenheim spaniel. As befitted her rank, Sarah led a life of luxury, and had a great manypossessions of her very own. Smart collars and bells, a box full ofdifferent coloured ribbons, a travelling trunk with her name upon it, abrush and comb, a warm coat for cold weather, and a comfortable basketto sleep in. Everything that heart could desire for comfort oradornment was hers. She had never been used to the least roughness orhardship, and certainly was too delicate to fight her own way in theworld. And now Sarah was lost! All through that Sunday everyone was very muchdisturbed, and talked of nothing but how they could find her. If avisitor came in, the conversation was all about Sarah; but no one seemedto be very hopeful that she would be brought back. There weredog-stealers about, they said, and such a little dog would be easilypicked up and hidden. Poor Diana listened to all this, and got more andmore miserable as the day went on, for she began to feel quite sure thatshe should never see her dear little dog again. She moped about, gotvery pale, would not eat her dinner, and would have been in utterdespair if Mother had not given her some comfort. For Mother was theonly person who thought there was a chance of Sarah's return, and thischeered Diana, because she had a feeling that Mother knew everything. Nevertheless when Monday morning came and there was no Sarah, Diana wentdownstairs in the lowest spirits. "Immediately after breakfast, " said her mother, "I shall put on mybonnet and go out to look for Sarah. " "Will you _promise_ to bring her back?" asked poor little Dianaearnestly. Even Mother could not _promise_, but she would do her very best, andwhen she had started Diana went up to the nursery somewhat comforted, towait as patiently as she could for her return. Long, long before that could possibly happen she stationed herself atthe window, and fixed her eyes on the busy street below. Carts, carriages, cabs, people, how they all went on and on without a pause, full of their own business or pleasure! So many ladies, but not Mother;so many dogs, small and big, but not one quite like Sarah. Diana'smouth began to droop more and more with disappointment, and she was verynear crying. Even Mother could not bring Sarah back! "A watched kettle never boils, Miss Diana, " said Nurse. "You'd muchbetter come away from the window and play, and then the time'd passquicker. " But Diana would not move. Just as Nurse spoke she caught sight of abonnet in the distance just like Mother's, but she had been so oftendeceived that she hardly dared to hope. It came nearer--it was oppositethe house. Oh, joy! Mother's face, with an expression of triumphantsatisfaction upon it, looked up to the nursery window. No wonder it wastriumphant, for under her arm there appeared a yellow and white head, with silky ears and large dark eyes. Sarah was found! It seemed almosttoo good to be true. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ You may imagine how Diana rejoiced over Sarah and petted her, and howinterested she and everyone else were to hear how the little dog hadbeen traced to a coachman's house in a mews close by. Sarah, on herside, seemed very glad to be with her dear little mistress again, andafter returning her caresses curled herself up and went to sleep on thesofa, no doubt tired with her adventures. How Diana wished she couldtell her all she had done and seen on that Sunday when everyone had beenso unhappy about her! "Where did you go, you darling?" she asked her over and over again, butSarah never answered. She only wagged her fringy tail, and licked hermistress's hand, and goggled at her with her full dark eyes. And yetDiana felt quite sure that she had many strange and interesting thingsto tell, if she only could. One afternoon she was lying on the schoolroom sofa with Sarah by herside. It was a very hot day, the blinds were down and the windows wideopen, so that the distant rumble of the carts and carriages came up fromthe street below. There was an organ playing too, and as Diana listeneddreamily to these noises, and stroked Sarah's head with one hand, shebegan to wonder again about those wonderful adventures. "Tell me where you went on Sunday, " she whispered once more. To her great surprise, she plainly heard, among all the other noises, the sound of a tiny voice close to her. She listened eagerly, and thisis what it said: "You must know, my dear mistress, that I have long had a great wish tosee more of the world. The park is pleasant enough, but after all ifyou are led on a string and not allowed to speak to other dogs, it soonbecomes dull and tiresome. I wanted to go out alone, into the busystreet, to stay as long as I liked, to take whatever direction Ifancied, and to join in the amusements of other dogs. In short, Iwanted more freedom; and although I never gave way to temper or becamesnappish, I grew more and more discontented with my safe and pleasantlife. I was so closely watched, however, that I could never get anopportunity for the least little stroll alone, and I began to despair, when, at last, on Sunday, the chance really came. I was alone in thehall, Hester opened the door, I slipped out unseen, and there I was--free! "It was delightful to find myself alone on the door-step, and to hearthe door shut behind me; not that I did not fully intend to go back, forI love my mistress and am not ungrateful for the kindness shown me, butit was so pleasant to think that for a short time I could do just as Iliked. I soon found, however, that this was very far from the case. "At first I trotted along the pavement in the best spirits, meeting veryfew dogs, and those of a very rough kind, so that I did not care tospeak to them. It was, as you remember, a very hot day. The groundfelt quite burning under my feet, and soon I should have been thankfulto be carried a little while. I got thirsty too, and I began to lookabout for a shady place where I could lie down and rest out of the sun. Presently I came to a narrow turning, which looked dark and coolcompared to the bright hot streets. It was quiet too, for there wasonly a man in the yard washing a cart, and a rough-coated grey dogsitting near. I made up my mind to try this, and trotting up to the dogmade a few remarks about the heat of the weather. From his replies Isoon perceived that he was quite a common dog, though very good-naturedin manner, and he shortly told me he belonged to the green-grocer andthat his name was `Bob. ' "We continued to talk, and before long I learnt a good deal about hisway of life, which interested me extremely from its great contrast to myown. In spite of its hardships there was something attractive about ittoo, though quite out of the question for anyone of delicacy andrefinement. For Bob was a working dog. He had to be at Covent Gardenby daybreak with his master, to go on all his rounds with him, and totake care of the vegetables in the cart while he called at the differenthouses. "`And what do you get for all that?' I asked. "`I get my food, and a good many kicks sometimes, ' he answered. "`Poor dog!' I exclaimed, for my heart was filled with pity for him, and I no longer thought his an attractive life. `Why don't you runaway?' "Bob grinned. `I'm not so stupid as that, ' he replied. `Dogs that runaway come to bad ends. Besides, I'm happy enough. I get a holidaysometimes, and a walk in the park, and on Sunday I can do what I like. ' "`Dear me!' I exclaimed languidly. `What a dreadful life! Now, _I_have nothing to do but to please myself every day in the week, and asfor the park, I go there so often I'm perfectly sick of it. ' "`Do you get your Sundays out?' asked Bob. "I hesitated. `This is really my first Sunday out, ' I replied atlength, `but I intend in future--' "`What's your name?' rudely interrupted Bob. "He certainly had no manners at all, but what could you expect from adog of low degree? "`My name, ' I replied, holding up my head with a slight sniff ofdisdain, `is--Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough!' "I had no time to notice the effect of these words, for they were hardlyout of my mouth when I felt myself seized by a large hand, lifted intothe air, and thrust into someone's coat pocket. From this humiliatingposition I heard the voice of the man washing the cart:-- "`That _your_ dorg?' And someone answered, `It belongs to the lady. ' "You may judge, my dear mistress, how frightened I felt. Here was asudden end to my freedom! Imprisoned in a strange man's pocket, fromwhich escape was impossible, nearly stifled with the smell of tobacco, and filled with dread as to what would happen next. I managed towriggle my head out of the corner, but saw at once that it would beuseless to think of jumping out, the distance from the ground being fartoo great. I remained still therefore, and as the man walked out of theyard had a faint hope that he knew where I lived and was taking me home. Alas! I was soon disappointed. He turned down a mews, went into ahouse I had never seen before, up some narrow stairs without any carpet, and entered a room where there sat a large fat man in his shirt sleeves, smoking and reading a newspaper. I was placed trembling on the table byhis side, and he took the pipe out of his mouth and turned his head tolook at me. "`Nice little sort of a fancy dorg, ' he said at last. `What they call a"Blennum". ' "`Strayed into the yard, ' said the man who had picked me up. `I'm goingto show it to the missus presently. ' "`Worth a tidy sum, ' said the fat man, and went on smoking. "Was ever a dog of my rank and position brought down so low? No onetook any more notice of me, or seemed to think me of any importance, andI remained shivering on the table with large tears rolling down mycheeks. How I repented my folly! I had wanted to see the world, andhere it was, a miserable contrast to my happy life at home, where I wasfondled and admired by everyone. Foolish, foolish little dog that I hadbeen! I began to think too how my dear little mistress would miss me, and how they would search everywhere and call for me in vain, and themore I thought the more painful it all seemed. A long and wretched timepassed in this way, during which the fat man, who was a coachman Iafterwards heard, puffed at his pipe and read his newspaper, sometimesshaking his head and talking to himself a little. He hardly seemed toknow I was there, and I believe if the door had been open I could easilyhave escaped, for the other man had gone out of the room. But there wasno chance of that; by and by he came back, took me under his arm andwent out into the street again. Where was he going, I wondered. He hadtalked of the missus, but if the missus was any friend of his I had nohope that she would prove agreeable. It was a great surprise, therefore, to find myself a little later in a large house where therewere soft carpets, and pictures, and flowers, and everything I have beenused to see around me. Not only this, but I was most warmly received bya lady, who called me a duck, a darling, a love, and a beauty. Thesefamiliar names, which I had been accustomed to hear from my birth, mademe feel somewhat at home, and I began to take comfort. At any rate, Iwas now with people who knew how to behave to me, and would treat mewith consideration. I passed the rest of the day, therefore, in peace, though I still sighed for my own mistress, and had no appetite for thenew roll and cream offered me. "All my fears returned, however, for to my distress I was sent back tosleep at the coachman's house, where I passed the night full of anxietyand the most dismal thoughts. How would all this end? Who can picturemy ecstasy of delight the next morning when I heard the sound of yourmother's voice talking to the coachman below? I need not tell you howshe had succeeded in tracing me through the green-grocer, who had seenme picked up in the yard, for that you know already. I cannot helpfeeling that Bob may have had something to do with my recovery, for I amsure though rough in his manners he was a well-meaning dog. If so, I amgrateful to him. To end a long story, my dear mistress, I must remarkthat I have no longer any wish to know more of the world. It is far toorough and noisy a place for me, and you need have no fear, therefore, that I shall try to repeat my experience, or shall ever forget thelesson taught me by `my Sunday out'. " CHAPTER FOUR. "When is she coming?" "To-morrow. " "Are you glad?" "No. Are you?" "I don't care. I wonder how long she will stay. I know Mother said aweek, but I dare say she'll ask her to stay longer as she did lastyear. " "Well, I know she'll be tiresome, and I shall be glad when she goesaway. " "I'm going to sleep now. " "Oh, Martha, how soon you always do go to sleep! I'm not a bit sleepyyet. " A snore from the other little bed soon showed Betty that further talkwas hopeless. She would have liked to chatter longer, but Martha had away of falling asleep at the most interesting points, and Betty knew itwould be useless to try and rouse her now. So she resigned herself to her own thoughts with a sigh. Kitty wascoming to-morrow! Coming before Martha and she had had any enjoyment oftheir country life together, for the children had only just left London. Coming to spoil all their plans and games with her tiresome ways, justas she had done last year. Of course she would insist on being first ineverything, on ruling everyone, and would be as pushing and disagreeableas possible. It was all very well to say that she was a visitor andmust do as she wished, but that did not make it any the less provoking. And then Martha took it all so quietly. It was almost impossible torouse her to be angry, and that was annoying too in its way. "Isuppose, " thought Betty, very sleepily now, "that I ought to try to bepatient too, but sometimes I really _can't_. " She fell asleep here, anddreamed that Kitty was an immense "daddy-long-legs" flapping and buzzingabout in her hair. The next afternoon Kitty arrived, full of excitement, and ready to bemore than delighted with everything. She was eleven years old, just Martha's age, and Betty was two yearsyounger. Fresh from her life in London, where there always were so manylessons to be learned and so little "fun" of any kind, this beautifulcountry home was a sort of paradise to her. To have no one to scoldher, no lessons to learn, no tiresome straight walks with her governess, and above all, to have two playfellows always ready to join in pleasuresand games! Kitty was an only child, and her life was often dull forwant of companionship. Everything went on very well at first, for therewas so much to do and see that there was no time for disputes. True, Kitty commanded as much as ever, and had a way of setting people torights which was distinctly trying; but she and Betty did not come toany open disagreement until she had been at Holmwood for nearly a week. Nevertheless there had been many small occasions on which Betty had feltfretted and irritated; for Kitty, without the least intending it, seemedoften to choose just the wrong thing to say and do. And then she always wished to do _exactly_ the same as Martha andherself, and that was _so_ tiresome. For instance, all the children were very fond of dear Miss Grey. Butnow it was always Kitty who must sit next to her, Kitty who rushed tosupply her with roses to wear and strawberries to eat, Kitty who kissedher repeatedly at the most awkward moments. Martha and Betty, whonaturally felt that Miss Grey was their _own dear_ Miss Grey, couldhardly get near her at all, and Betty resented this very much. In fact, she gradually got to dwell so entirely on these annoyances that shecould not think of Kitty's good qualities at all, and was quite unableto remember that she was generous and affectionate, and that her faults, though tiresome, were partly the result of a longing to be loved. At last, the clouds having gathered, the storm came. One morning, almost as soon as she got up, Betty felt that every singlething Kitty did or said was silly. It did not occur to her that perhapsshe was a little bit cross herself, which was the real explanation. After breakfast they all three went down to the pond, and, dividing thewater into shares, began to fish for frogs and newts. "In a minute, " said Betty to herself as she watched Kitty, "she'll sayMartha and I have the best places. " It happened just so. "I say, " said Kitty, throwing down her net and coming close up to Betty, "I've got the worst place of all, there's nothing to catch in thispart!" "You haven't tried long enough, " said Martha. "Let's change, " was Kitty's next suggestion as she stood looking eagerlyover Betty's shoulder. "All right, " said Betty moodily, and she went round to the part of thepond Kitty had left, where she almost immediately caught two tadpolesand a newt. "Look there!" she cried, holding up her net triumphantly. "Oh!" screamed Kitty, "you _are_ lucky. _Do_ let me try, " and sherushed up to Betty's side and seized hold of the net. But this was toomuch. Betty let go of the handle and said indignantly, "I shan't fishany more. You're so unfair; you always are!" And she walked away in arage. "Kitty is more tiresome than ever, " she said to herself. "Shespoils everything. I wish she would go away!" All that day she preserved an attitude of dignified sulkiness in spiteof Kitty's frequent attempts to make it up. When she came and threw herarm round her, Betty shook it off impatiently. That evening the three little girls were in the woods with dear MissGrey and baby Susie, who was just three years old. Betty was walking alittle behind the others with her eyes fixed on the ground. It was dampand mossy, and there was a thick growth of ferns and underwood at theside of the path. Suddenly she saw something move quickly through this, and disappear down a hole. She stopped and moved aside the ferns andmoss. What do you think she saw sitting comfortably in the hole andstaring at her with its moist bright eyes? A large speckled toad! "Look, look, Miss Grey!" she cried, and everyone gathered round to seewhat she had found. Even Susie peered into the hole, and poked a bit offern gently at the toad, which sat there gazing quietly at them. "What a jolly little home he's made for himself!" said Martha. "Allsoft and moist, and just exactly to fit him. " "He can't see out much, " said Betty as she put back the moss gently overthe top. "I don't think he wants to, " said Miss Grey. "He is quite satisfied, like many other people who live in holes. " The children ran on through the wood, except Betty, who kept back andtook hold of Miss Grey's hand. "What do you mean about living in holes?" she asked presently. "Well, you know, we all live in holes of one kind or another. Some arerough and some smooth, some fit us exactly, and some don't fit us atall. Some are softly-lined with all sorts of comforts, and some arefull of pricks and troubles. And it is always very difficult to see outof them. " "Why?" asked Betty. "Because, like the toad's hole we saw just now, our own lives are sonear us and surround us so closely, that it is only by making an effortthat we can get out of them and understand other people's lives at all. The only thing that can really make us do that is sympathy. " "What does that mean?" "It is that which makes us able to put ourselves in thought into otherpeople's holes, and feel what it is like to live there. When we do thatit makes us remember to be patient and gentle with our friends andcompanions, for if they live in uncomfortable holes it must be difficultfor them to be unselfish and amiable. If we had their troubles andvexations we might not be half so pleasant as they are. " Betty was silent. "Do you think Martha's hole and mine is nicer than Kitty's?" she said atlast. "Well, I think in some ways it may be. At any rate you know Kitty hasno sisters to play with, and very little of this country life you allenjoy so much. While her holiday lasts I should try to make it aspleasant as possible for her, if I were you. " "I do, " said Betty, "generally. Only sometimes she makes me feel socross. " At this moment up rushed Kitty, and elbowed Betty away from Miss Grey'sside. "You've had her long enough!" she shouted. "It's my turn now!" And Betty was thinking so much about the toad in the hole, that she didnot even frown.