ed
company, and the best china was set out. Why "best"? Why should a
saucer, all blue and gold and red, with a crown on the back, be better
than a white one with mauve blobs on it? I never could see. Milk tastes
equally well from both.

I went into the drawing-room before the guests arrived--just to be sure
that everything was as I could wish--and, seeing the tea set out, I got
on the table, as usual, to see whether there was anything in the
saucers. There was not, but in the best milk-jug there was--CREAM!

The neck of the best milk-jug was narrow. I could not get my head in, so
I turned it over with my paw. It fell with a crash, and I paused a
moment--these little shocks always upset me. All was still--I began to
lap. Oh! that cream! I shall never forget it!

Then came a rush, and the fatal cry of "Shoo! scat!"--always presaging
disaster. I saw the door open, and, by an instinct I cannot explain, I
leaped from the table. In my hurry, my foot caught in the handle of the
silver tray. We fell together--neither the tray nor I was hurt--but the
best china!!!

I picked myself up, and looked about me. The family had come in. I read
in their faces that their servant's unlucky interruption-of my meal had
destroyed what was dearer to them than life--than _my_ life, at any
rate. I fled. I went out homeless and hopeless into the golden
afternoon.

I live now with a Saint--a maiden lady, who takes condensed milk in her
own tea, and buys me two-pennyworth of cream night and morning.

And cat's meat, too!

And the glorious fishmonger still leaves his offerings at my door.

Nine Lives

"MOTHER," said the yellow kitten, "is it true that we cats have nine
lives?"

"Quite, my dear," the brindled cat replied. She was a very handsome cat,
and in very comfortable circumstances. She sat on a warm Turkey carpet,
and wore a blue satin ribbon round her neck. "I am in the ninth life
myself," she said.

"Have you lived all your lives here?"

"Oh dear, no!"

"Were you here," the white kitten asked, in a sleepy voice, "when the
Turkey carpet was born? Rover says it is only a few months old."

"No," said the mother, "I was not. Indeed, it was partly the softness of
that carpet that made me come and live here."

"Where did you live before?" the black kitten said.

A dreamy look came into the brindled cat's eyes.

"In many strange places," she answered slowly; adding more briskly, "and
if you will be good kittens, I wil