The Kitchen Cat, and other Tales | Page 8

rather wearily to Nurse.
Standing stiffly erect behind Ruth's chair, Nurse Smith repeated all that the doctor and Mrs Clarkson had said.
"And I think myself, sir," she added, "that Miss Ruth will be all the better 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. "What can she have to worry about? Is there anything you want, my dear?" he said, taking hold of Ruth's little hot hand and bending over her.
The moment had come. Ruth gathered all her courage, sat upright, and fixing 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 slight affair. "One of your little cousins, I suppose? Well, you're going to Summerford, you know, and then you'll see them all. I forget their names. 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 of them."
"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. "Her best friend! What does the child mean?"
"Miss Ruth has fancies, sir," she began with a superior smile. But she did not get far, for at that word Ruth started to her feet in desperation.
"It isn't a fancy!" she cried; "it's a real cat. I know it very well and 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 that Ruth thought he must be angry. "Why hasn't Miss Ruth had it before if she wanted it?"
"Well, I believe there is a cat somewhere below, sir," she replied in an injured tone; "but I'd no idea, I'm sure, that Miss Ruth was worritting after it. To the best of my knowledge she's only seen it once. 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 head when 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 own success. Not only was the kitchen cat to be admitted, but it was to be brought by the very hands of Nurse herself. It was wonderful--almost too wonderful to be true.
And now it seemed that her father wished to know how the kitchen cat had become her best friend. He was very much interested in it, and she thought his face looked quite different while he listened to her to what it looked when he was reading his papers downstairs. Finding that he asked sensible questions, and did not once say anything about "fancies", she was encouraged to tell him more and more, and at last leant her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. It would be all right now. She had found someone at last who understood.
The entrance of the kitchen cat shortly afterwards was neither dignified nor comfortable, for it appeared dangling at the end of Nurse's outstretched arm, held by the neck as far as possible from her own person. When it was first put down it was terrified at its new surroundings, and it was a little painful to find that it wanted to rush downstairs again at once, in spite of Ruth's fondest caresses. It was Mr Lorimer who came to her help, and succeeded at last in soothing its fears and coaxing it to drink some milk, after which it settled down 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