ng like being thrown out of the larder by
cook--I can't describe it. It caught me up, and in less than a moment
it had hung my tabby skin on a nail behind the door.

"I crept out of that lovely fairyland a cat without a skin. And that's
how I came to be white."

"I don't quite see----" began Dolly.

"No? Why, what would your mother do if some one took off your dress, and
hung it on a nail where she could not get it?"

"Buy me another, I suppose."

"Exactly. But when my mother took me to the cat-skin shop, they were,
unfortunately, quite out of tabby dresses in my size, so I had to have a
white one."

"I don't believe a word of it," said Dolly.

"No? Well, I'm sure it's as good a story as you could expect in answer
to such a silly question."

"But you were always----"

"Oh, well!" said the kitten, showing its claws, "if you know more about
it than I do, of course there's no more to be said. Perhaps you could
tell me why your hair is brown?"

"I was born so, I believe," said Dolly gently.

The kitten put its nose in the air.

"You've got no imagination," it said.

"But, Kitty, really and truly, without pretending, you _were_ born
white, you know."

"If you know all about it, why did you ask me? At any rate, you can't
expect me to remember whether I was born white or not. I was too young
to notice such things."

"Now you are in fun," said poor Dolly, bewildered.

The kitten bristled with indignation.

"What! you really don't believe me? I'll never speak to you again," it
said. And it never has.

The Selfish Pussy

"YES," said the tortoiseshell cat to the grey one, as she thoughtfully
washed her left ear, "I have lived in a great many families. You see,
it's not every trade that deserves to have a cat about the place. My
first master was a shoemaker, and I lived with him happily enough, until
one morning in winter, when I found the wicked man sewing strips of--let
me whisper--_cat's fur_ on a pair of lady's slippers!

"I mewed as I saw it, and he, thinking I wanted milk, put down his work
to get me some, for he was fond enough of me. I drank the milk, and then
I ran away. I could not live with such a man.

"My next home was in a garret, with a half-starved musician who made
violins. A violin is a musical instrument that miauls when you touch it
just as we cats do, and it was amusing to live with a man who could make
things with voices like my own. He was very poor, and often had not
en