Part 1 (2/2)

She was a sharp-eyed lady, and her visits made a stir in the house which was like a cold wind blowing, so that Ruth was glad when they were over, though her aunt always spoke kindly to her, and said: ”Some day you must come and see your little cousins in the country.”

She had said this so often without its having happened, however, that Ruth had come to look upon it as a mere form of speech--part of Aunt Clarkson's visit, like saying ”How d'ye do?” or ”Good-bye.”

It was shortly after one of these occasions that quite by chance Ruth found a new friend, who was better than either the dolls or the man in the picture, because, though it could not answer her, it was really alive. She discovered it in this way.

One afternoon she and Nurse Smith had come in from their usual walk, and were toiling slowly up from the hall to the nursery. The stairs got steeper at the last flight, and Nurse went more slowly still, and panted a good deal, for she was stouter than she need have been, though Ruth would never have dreamed of saying so. Ruth was in front, and she had nearly reached the top when something came hurrying towards her which surprised her very much. It was a long, lean, grey cat. It had a guilty look, as though it knew it had been trespa.s.sing, and squeezed itself as close as it could against the wall as it pa.s.sed.

”Pretty puss!” said Ruth softly, and put out her hand to stop it.

The cat at once arched up its back and gave a friendly little answering mew. Ruth wondered where it came from. It was ugly, she thought, but it seemed a pleasant cat and glad to be noticed. She rubbed its head gently. It felt hard and rough like Nurse's old velvet bonnet; there was indeed no sleekness about it anywhere, and it was so thin that its sides nearly met.

”Poor puss!” said Ruth stroking it tenderly.

The cat replied by pus.h.i.+ng its head gently against her arm, and presently began a low purring song. Delighted, Ruth bent her ear to listen.

”Whoos.h.!.+ s.h.i.+s.h.!.+ Get along! Scat!” suddenly sounded from a few steps below. Nurse's umbrella was violently flourished, the cat flew downstairs with a spit like an angry firework, and Ruth turned round indignantly.

”You _shouldn't_ have done that,” she said, stamping her foot; ”I wanted to talk to it. Whose is it?”

”It's that nasty kitchen cat,” said Nurse, much excited, and grasping her umbrella spitefully. ”I'm not going to have it prowling about on my landing. An ugly thieving thing, as has no business above stairs at all.”

Ruth pressed her face against the bal.u.s.ters. In the distance below she could see the small grey form of the kitchen cat making its way swiftly and silently downstairs. It went so fast that it seemed to float rather than to run, and was soon out of sight.

”I should like to have played with it up in the nursery,” she said, with a sigh, as she continued her way. ”I wish you hadn't frightened it away.”

”Lor', Miss Ruth, my dear,” answered Nurse, ”what can a little lady like you want with a nasty, low, kitchen cat! Come up and play with some of your beautiful toys, there's a dear! Do.”

Nevertheless Ruth thought about the cat a great deal that afternoon, and the toys seemed even less interesting than usual. When tea was over, and Nurse had taken up her sewing again, she began to make a few inquiries.

”Where does that cat live?” she asked.

”In the kitchen, to be sure,” said Nurse; ”and the cellar, and coal-hole, and such like. Alonger the rats and mice--and the beadles,”

she added, as an after-thought.

”The beadles!” repeated Ruth doubtfully. ”_What_ beadles?”

”Why, the _black_ beadles, to be sure,” replied Nurse cheerfully.

Ruth was silent. It seemed dismal company for the kitchen cat. Then she said:

”Are there many of them?”

”Swarms!” said Nurse, breaking off her thread with a snap. ”The kitchen's black with 'em at night.”

What a dreadful picture!

”Who feeds the cat?” asked Ruth again.

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