up its back and gave a friendly little answering
mew. Ruth wondered where it came from. It was ugly, she thought, but it
seemed a pleasant cat and glad to be noticed. She rubbed its head
gently. It felt hard and rough like Nurse's old velvet bonnet; there was
indeed no sleekness about it anywhere, and it was so thin that its sides
nearly met.

"Poor puss!" said Ruth stroking it tenderly.

The cat replied by pushing its head gently against her arm, and
presently began a low purring song. Delighted, Ruth bent her ear to
listen.

"Whoosh! Shish! Get along! Scat!" suddenly sounded from a few steps
below. Nurse's umbrella was violently flourished, the cat flew
downstairs with a spit like an angry firework, and Ruth turned round
indignantly.

"You _shouldn't_ have done that," she said, stamping her foot; "I wanted
to talk to it. Whose is it?"

"It's that nasty kitchen cat," said Nurse, much excited, and grasping
her umbrella spitefully. "I'm not going to have it prowling about on
_my_ landing. An ugly thieving thing, as has no business above stairs at
all."

Ruth pressed her face against the balusters. In the distance below she
could see the small grey form of the kitchen cat making its way swiftly
and silently downstairs. It went so fast that it seemed to float rather
than to run, and was soon out of sight.

"I should like to have played with it up in the nursery," she said, with
a sigh, as she continued her way. "I wish you hadn't frightened it
away."

"Lor', Miss Ruth, my dear," answered Nurse, "what can a little lady like
you want with a nasty, low, kitchen cat! Come up and play with some of
your beautiful toys, there's a dear! Do."

Nevertheless Ruth thought about the cat a great deal that afternoon, and
the toys seemed even less interesting than usual. When tea was over, and
Nurse had taken up her sewing again, she began to make a few inquiries.

"Where does that cat live?" she asked.

"In the kitchen, to be sure," said Nurse; "and the cellar, and
coal-hole, and such like. Alonger the rats and mice--and the beadles,"
she added, as an after-thought.

"The beadles!" repeated Ruth doubtfully. "_What_ beadles?"

"Why, the _black_ beadles, to be sure," replied Nurse cheerfully.

Ruth was silent. It seemed dismal company for the kitchen cat. Then she
said:

"Are there many of them?"

"Swarms!" said Nurse, breaking off her thread with a snap. "The
kitchen's black with 'em at night."

What a dreadful pi