not afraid of
anything that could be attached to tails. The string rubbed his fur the
wrong way--it was that that annoyed him, not the string itself; and as
for what was at the end of the string, what _could_ that matter to any
sensible cat? Maurice was quite decided that he was--and would keep on
being--a sensible cat.

The string, however, and the uncomfortable, tight position between those
chequered knees--something or other was getting on his nerves.

'Maurice!' shouted his father below, and the be-catted Maurice bounded
between the knees of the creature that wore his clothes and his looks.

'Coming, father,' this thing called, and sped away, leaving Maurice on
the servant's bed--under which Lord Hugh had taken refuge, with his
tin-can, so short and yet so long a time ago. The stairs re-echoed to
the loud boots which Maurice had never before thought loud; he had
often, indeed, wondered that any one could object to them. He wondered
now no longer.

He heard the front door slam. That thing had gone to Dr.
Strongitharm's. That was one comfort. Lord Hugh was a boy now; he would
know what it was to be a boy. He, Maurice, was a cat, and he meant to
taste fully all catty pleasures, from milk to mice. Meanwhile he was
without mice or milk, and, unaccustomed as he was to a tail, he could
not but feel that all was not right with his own. There was a feeling of
weight, a feeling of discomfort, of positive terror. If he should move,
what would that thing that was tied to his tail do? Rattle, of course.
Oh, but he could not bear it if that thing rattled. Nonsense; it was
only a sardine-tin. Yes, Maurice knew that. But all the same--if it did
rattle! He moved his tail the least little soft inch. No sound. Perhaps
really there wasn't anything tied to his tail. But he couldn't be sure
unless he moved. But if he moved the thing would rattle, and if it
rattled Maurice felt sure that he would expire or go mad. A mad cat.
What a dreadful thing to be! Yet he couldn't sit on that bed for ever,
waiting, waiting, waiting for the dreadful thing to happen.

'Oh, dear,' sighed Maurice the cat. 'I never knew what people meant by
"afraid" before.'

His cat-heart was beating heavily against his furry side. His limbs were
getting cramped--he must move. He did. And instantly the awful thing
happened. The sardine-tin touched the iron of the bed-foot. It rattled.

'Oh, I can't bear it, I can't,' cried poor Maurice, in a heartrending
meaow t