Part 3 (1/2)

”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-gla.s.s.

”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 far-away 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 pa.s.sed 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 bra.s.s 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.