of an ordinary little boy's joys and
sorrows, goodnesses and badnesses. Nights spent by a little Prince in
the Magic Castle of the White Cat.

Then came the day when Tavy's mother spoke to him, and he, very scared
and serious, told the China Cat what she had said.

'I knew this would happen,' said the Cat. 'It always does. So you're to
leave your house next week. Well, there's only one way out of the
difficulty. Draw your sword, Tavy, and cut off my head and tail.'

'And then will you turn into a Princess, and shall I have to marry you?'
Tavy asked with horror.

'No, dear--no,' said the Cat reassuringly. 'I sha'n't turn into
anything. But you and mother will turn into happy people. I shall just
not _be_ any more--for you.'

'Then I won't do it,' said Tavy.

'But you must. Come, draw your sword, like a brave fairy Prince, and cut
off my head.'

The sword hung above his bed, with the helmet and breast-plate Uncle
James had given him last Christmas.

'I'm not a fairy Prince,' said the child. 'I'm Tavy--and I love you.'

'You love your mother better,' said the Cat. 'Come cut my head off. The
story always ends like that. You love mother best. It's for her sake.'

'Yes.' Tavy was trying to think it out. 'Yes, I love mother best. But I
love _you_. And I won't cut off your head,--no, not even for mother.'

'Then,' said the Cat, 'I must do what I can!'

She stood up, waving her white china tail, and before Tavy could stop
her she had leapt, not, as before, into his arms, but on to the wide
hearthstone.

It was all over--the China Cat lay broken inside the high brass fender.
The sound of the smash brought mother running.

'What is it?' she cried. 'Oh, Tavy--the China Cat!'

'She would do it,' sobbed Tavy. 'She wanted me to cut off her head'n I
wouldn't.'

'Don't talk nonsense, dear,' said mother sadly. 'That only makes it
worse. Pick up the pieces.'

'There's only two pieces,' said Tavy. 'Couldn't you stick her together
again?'

'Why,' said mother, holding the pieces close to the candle. 'She's been
broken before. And mended.'

'I knew that,' said Tavy, still sobbing. 'Oh, my dear White Cat, oh, oh,
oh!' The last 'oh' was a howl of anguish.

'Come, crying won't mend her,' said mother. 'Look, there's another piece
of her, close to the shovel.'

Tavy stooped.

'That's not a piece of cat,' he said, and picked it up.

It was a pale parchment label, tied to a key. Mother held it to the
candle and read: