me
people say we are all as happy as we deserve to be--but I am not sure.

VI

THE WHITE CAT

The White Cat lived at the back of a shelf at the darkest end of the
inside attic which was nearly dark all over. It had lived there for
years, because one of its white china ears was chipped, so that it was
no longer a possible ornament for the spare bedroom.

Tavy found it at the climax of a wicked and glorious afternoon. He had
been left alone. The servants were the only other people in the house.
He had promised to be good. He had meant to be good. And he had not
been. He had done everything you can think of. He had walked into the
duck pond, and not a stitch of his clothes but had had to be changed.
He had climbed on a hay rick and fallen off it, and had not broken his
neck, which, as cook told him, he richly deserved to do. He had found a
mouse in the trap and put it in the kitchen tea-pot, so that when cook
went to make tea it jumped out at her, and affected her to screams
followed by tears. Tavy was sorry for this, of course, and said so like
a man. He had only, he explained, meant to give her a little start. In
the confusion that followed the mouse, he had eaten all the
black-currant jam that was put out for kitchen tea, and for this too, he
apologised handsomely as soon as it was pointed out to him. He had
broken a pane of the greenhouse with a stone and.... But why pursue the
painful theme? The last thing he had done was to explore the attic,
where he was never allowed to go, and to knock down the White Cat from
its shelf.

The sound of its fall brought the servants. The cat was not broken--only
its other ear was chipped. Tavy was put to bed. But he got out as soon
as the servants had gone downstairs, crept up to the attic, secured the
Cat, and washed it in the bath. So that when mother came back from
London, Tavy, dancing impatiently at the head of the stairs, in a very
wet night-gown, flung himself upon her and cried, 'I've been awfully
naughty, and I'm frightfully sorry, and please may I have the White Cat
for my very own?'

He was much sorrier than he had expected to be when he saw that mother
was too tired even to want to know, as she generally did, exactly how
naughty he had been. She only kissed him, and said:

'I am sorry you've been naughty, my darling. Go back to bed now.
Good-night.'

Tavy was ashamed to say anything more about the China Cat, so he went
back to bed. But he took the Cat w