The Kitchen Cat, and other Tales | Page 4

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," said Nurse, "by the way you've slit your pocket open."
This went on till Ruth began to despair. "I'll try it one more evening," she said to herself, "and if it doesn't come then I shall give it up."
Once more, therefore, when she was ready to go downstairs, she took the bun out of the dolls' house, where she kept it wrapped up in tissue paper, and squeezed it into her pocket. Rather hopelessly,