The Kitchen Cat, and other Tales | Page 9

placidly with her in the big chair and began its usual song of
contentment. She examined it carefully with a grave face, and then
looked 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
Ruth had tied round its neck was grimy and black.
"It's not exactually pretty," she continued, "but it's a very nice cat. You
can't think how well it knows me--generally."
Mr Lorimer studied the long lean form of the cat curiously through his
eye-glass.
"You wouldn't like a white Persian kitten better for a pet--or a nice little
dog, now?" he asked doubtfully.
"Oh, please not," said Ruth with a shocked expression on her face. "I
shouldn't love it half so well, and I'm sure the kitchen cat wouldn't like
it."
That was a wonderful evening. Everything seemed as suddenly
changed as if a fairy had touched them with her wand. Not only was the
kitchen cat actually there in the nursery, drinking milk and eating toast,
but there was a still stranger alteration. This father was quite different
to the one she had known in the dining-room downstairs, who was
always reading and had no time to talk. His very face had altered, for
instead of looking grave and faraway it was full of smiles and interest.
And how well he understood about the kitchen cat! When her bed-time
came he seemed quite sorry to go away, and his last words were:

"Remember, Nurse, Miss Ruth is to have the cat here whenever she
likes and as long as she likes."
It was all so strange that Ruth woke up the next morning with a feeling
that she had had a pleasant dream. The kitchen cat and the new father
would both vanish with daylight; they were "fancies", as Nurse called
them, and not real things at all. But as the days passed and she grew
strong enough to go downstairs as usual, it was delightful to find that
this was not the case. The new father was there still. The cat was
allowed to make a third in the party, and soon learned to take its place
with dignity and composure. But though thus honoured, it no longer
received all Ruth's confidences. She had found a better friend. Her
difficulties, her questions, her news were all saved up for the evening to
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 bought
round the cat's neck.
"I don't want to go to Summerford," she said suddenly. "I'd much rather
stay here with you."
"And the cat," added Mr Lorimer as he kissed her. "Well, you must
come back 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 rather
sharp 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 great
honour, and its life henceforth was one of peace and freedom. It went
where it would, no one questioned its right of entrance to the nursery or
dared to slight it in any way. In spite, however, of choice meals and
luxury it never grew fat, and never, except in Ruth's eyes, became
pretty. It also kept to many of its old habits, preferring liberty and the
chimney-pots at night to the softly-lined basket prepared for its repose.

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 called
it her "best friend." Perhaps she would not have discovered so soon that
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 a
friend at the hall door. That was at eleven o'clock in the morning; now
it was one o'clock in the afternoon, and there was no Sarah to be found
anywhere. Not in the nursery, not in any of the bedrooms, not upstairs,
not downstairs; every hole and corner and crevice much too small to
hide Sarah was thoroughly searched. Her name was called in the
fondest tones by every member of the family from father and mother
down to little Diana, and by all the servants, but there was