f. It was wonderful--almost too
wonderful to be true.

And now it seemed that her father wished to know how the kitchen cat had
become her best friend. He was very much interested in it, and she
thought his face looked quite different while he listened to her to what
it looked when he was reading his papers downstairs. Finding that he
asked sensible questions, and did not once say anything about "fancies",
she was encouraged to tell him more and more, and at last leant her head
on his shoulder and closed her eyes. It would be all right now. She had
found someone at last who understood.

The entrance of the kitchen cat shortly afterwards was neither dignified
nor comfortable, for it appeared dangling at the end of Nurse's
outstretched arm, held by the neck as far as possible from her own
person. When it was first put down it was terrified at its new
surroundings, and it was a little painful to find that it wanted to rush
downstairs again at once, in spite of Ruth's fondest caresses. It was
Mr. Lorimer who came to her help, and succeeded at last in soothing its
fears and coaxing it to drink some milk, after which it settled down
placidly with her in the big chair and began its usual song of
contentment. She examined it carefully with a grave face, and then
looked apologetically at her father.

"It doesn't look its _best_," she said. "Its paws are white _really_,
but I think it's been in the coal-hole."

This seemed very likely, for not only its paws but the smart ribbon Ruth
had tied round its neck was grimy and black.

"It's not _exactually_ pretty," she continued, "but it's a _very_ nice
cat. You can't think how well it knows me--generally."

Mr. Lorimer studied the long lean form of the cat curiously through his
eye-glass.

"You wouldn't like a white Persian kitten better for a pet--or a nice
little dog, now?" he asked doubtfully.

"Oh, _please_ not," said Ruth with a shocked expression on her face. "I
shouldn't love it half so well, and I'm sure the kitchen cat wouldn't
like it."

That was a wonderful evening. Everything seemed as suddenly changed as
if a fairy had touched them with her wand. Not only was the kitchen cat
actually there in the nursery, drinking milk and eating toast, but there
was a still stranger alteration. This father was quite different to the
one she had known in the dining-room downstairs, who was always reading
and had no time to talk. His very face had altered, for instead of
lookin