The Kitchen Cat, and other Tales | Page 4

did
not miss it much. As she could not talk about it, however, she thought
of her 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, she was occupied with all sorts of plans and arrangements for the
cat when it should come to live in the nursery. Meanwhile it was
widely separated from her; how could she let it know that she wanted
to see it again? When she went up and down stairs she peered and
peeped about to see if she could catch a glimpse of its hurrying grey
figure, and she never came in from a walk without expecting to meet it
on her way to the nursery. But she never did. The kitchen cat kept to its
own quarters and its own society. Perhaps it had been too often
"bannocked" down again to venture forth. And yet Ruth felt sure that it
had been glad when she had spoken kindly to it. What a pity that Nurse
did not like cats!
She confided all this as usual to the man in the picture, who received it
with his narrow observant glance and seemed to give it serious
consideration. Perhaps it was he who at last gave her a splendid idea,
which she hastened to carry out as well as she could, though
remembering Nurse's strong expression of dislike she felt obliged to do
so with the greatest secrecy.
As a first step, she examined the contents of her little red purse. A

whole shilling, a sixpence, and a threepenny bit. That would be more
than 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 sell
note-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 what
she would have; but at last, after the woman had turned over a whole
boxful, she came to some pink note-paper with brightly painted heads
of animals 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 the shop
quite satisfied with her first purchase.
"And now," said Nurse briskly, whose patience had been a good deal
tried, "we must make haste back, it's getting late."
But Ruth had still something on her mind. She must go to one more
shop, she said, though she did not know exactly which. At last she
fixed on a baker's.
"What should you think," she asked on the way, "that a cat likes to eat
better 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 a
fish-shop they were passing. "It's so wet and slippery I couldn't

possibly carry it home. Perhaps Nurse doesn't really know what cats
like best. Anyhow, I'm sure it's never tasted anything so nice as a Bath
bun." A Bath bun was accordingly bought, carried home, and put
carefully away in the doll's house. And now Ruth felt that she had an
important piece of business before her. She spread out a sheet of the
new writing-paper on the window-seat, knelt in front of it with a pencil
in her hand, and ruled some lines. She could not write very well, and
was often uncertain how to spell even short words; so she bit the end of
her pencil and sighed a good deal before the letter was finished. At last
it was done, and put into the envelope. But now came a new difficulty:
How should it be addressed? After much thought she wrote the
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 of the
house, Ruth began to look out still more eagerly for the kitchen cat, but
days passed and she caught no glimpse of it anywhere.
It was disappointing, and troublesome too, because she had to carry the
Bath 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 her
frock in the effort to force it in.
"You might a' been carrying brick-bats about with you, Miss Ruth,"