Black, White and Grey; a Story of Three Homes, by Amy Walton. 

________________________________________________________________________Some young children, whose parents are working in India, are beingbrought up by an aunt in a small English village called Fieldside. Theaunt lets them have a lot of freedom, but there are some "Rules of theHouse" which must be obeyed. When the cat has some lovely kittens, oneblack, one white, and one grey, they are not allowed to keep them, because there would then be too many cats than the Rules allowed, butthey are given three weeks in which to find homes for them. 

How these homes are found, and what happens then to the kittens, is thesubject of this book. As always with Amy Walton's books, reading themgives you a feeling for the happy days in our English countryside, nowlong past, that existed at the end of the nineteenth century. 

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BLACK, WHITE AND GREY; A STORY OF THREE HOMES, BY AMY WALTON. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

TWO GOOD HOMES. 

"It's as black as ink, " said Dennis, lifting one of the kittens out ofits warm bed in the hay; "there's not a single white hair upon it. "

"Madam's never had a _quite_ black one before, has she?" said his sisterMaisie, who knelt beside him, before the cat and her family. 

It was a snug and cosy home Madam had chosen for her children, in a darkcorner of the hayloft, where she had hollowed out a sort of nest in theside of a truss of hay. Here she might well have fancied herself quitesecure from discovery, for it was so dim and shadowy in the loft that itneeded sharp eyes to see anything but hay and straw. 

She had forgotten, however, that it was one of Dennis and Maisie'sfavourite play-rooms when it was too wet to be out-of-doors, and itturned out that in the midst of their games to-day, they had caughtsight of her white coat in her dusky retreat. Though she would rathernot have been found, Madam took the discovery calmly, and made nodifficulty, even when Dennis softly put in his hand and drew out theblack kitten. She knew the children well, and was quite sure they woulddo no harm, so she lay lazily blinking her green eyes, and even purredgently with pleasure to hear her kitten admired. 

It was such a very nice kitten. Not only because of its denseblackness, but its coat was as glossy and thick as that of a littlemole, and its shape unusually stumpy and attractive. 

"Isn't it a _beauty_?" said Dennis, in a delighted whisper; "we mustkeep it. "

"We haven't looked at the others yet, " said Maisie cautiously; "don'tlet's settle so soon. "

The black kitten was accordingly given back to Madam, who at once lickedit all over from top to toe, and the others brought out one by one. There was a perfectly white one, much smaller than the first, and theother was a commonplace striped grey. 

"I don't care about either, " said Dennis; "they're just like lots andlots of other kittens, and they grow up like lots and lots of othercats. Now the black's uncommon. "

"I can't bear settling which is to be drowned, " sighed Maisie. "Isuppose we may really only keep one. "

"You're a ninny, " said Dennis shortly. 

In reality he did not like to doom the kittens any better than hissister, but he would have thought it womanly to show his feelings. 

"I call it unfair, " continued Maisie, stroking the white and greykittens with her little brown hand, "to drown them just because they'renot pretty. It's not as if they were bad. "

"But you _know_ we mustn't keep them all, " said Dennis impatiently; "sowhat's the good of going on like that? We _must_ choose, and theblack's the best, isn't it?"

"Well, then, " said Maisie reluctantly, "I think we ought to cast lots, so as to give them each a chance. "

This appealed to Dennis's sense of justice, and was besides the usualway of settling differences between his sister and himself. He pulledout three pieces of hay of different lengths, and holding them tightlyshut in his hand, with the ends sticking out in an even row, saidshortly, "You choose. "

"Which is which?" asked Maisie, her face getting pink with excitement. 

"The longest's the black, the middling's the white, and the shortest'sthe grey, " said Dennis, with the calmness of fate. 

Maisie gazed at the little yellow ends of hay sticking out between herbrother's stout red fingers, almost with terror. The old cat, with onepaw thrown languidly over the black kitten, watched the proceedingscarelessly. 

"I'll have this one!" exclaimed Maisie desperately, tugging at themiddle piece. 

"Hurrah!" cried Dennis, as he opened his hand, and he threw up his capexultingly; for it was the black kitten that was to live. 

"I'm just as sorry as I was before about the others, " said Maisiewistfully; "but of course I _do_ like the black one best, and Madamseems proud of it too. What shall we call it?"

"Nigger, " said Dennis. 

Maisie looked doubtful. 

"That's not a very nice name, " she said slowly. "I should like to callit Jonah, because, you see, the lot fell upon it. "

"Well, but, you silly thing, " replied Dennis, "that just _wouldn't_ do, because Jonah _was_ drowned when the lot fell upon him, and the blackkitten won't be. "

"He wasn't _drowned_, " said Maisie, in a low impressive voice. 

"Well, worse. I'd rather have been drowned, " said Dennis shortly;"anyhow, I don't like the name of Jonah. It ought to have something todo with its colour. "

"Do you think, " said Maisie, looking with pity at the white and greykittens, "that we need tell Tom to drown them _quite_ directly. Mightn't we leave them till to-morrow, and hear what Aunt Katharinesays?"

"She won't say anything different, " said Dennis, with a decided shake ofthe head. "You know she made a rule. But we'll leave them if youlike. "

Before the children left the loft, half an hour later, they took atender leave of Madam and her family, and Maisie gave an extra caress tothe white and grey kittens, which she felt sure she should never seeagain. Nevertheless, at the bottom of her heart, there was a tiny hopethat she might be able to save them, for sometimes, even when she hadmade a rule, Aunt Katharine was unexpectedly yielding. 

Dennis and Maisie had lived with their aunt, Miss Katharine Chester, since they had been babies. They had arrived one autumn day atFieldside, all the way from India, two little motherless, white-facedthings under the care of strangers, and from that time till now, whenDennis was a square-shouldered boy of ten, and Maisie a sunburnt littlegirl of eight, Aunt Katharine had been everything to them. Certainlyfather was in India, and would come home some day, and meanwhile oftensent them letters and parcels, but he was such a complete stranger, thathe did not count for much in their little lives. On mail-days, whenthey had to write to him, it was often very hard to think of somethingto say, for they did not feel at all sure of his tastes, or what waslikely to interest him: it was like writing to a picture or a shadow, and not a real person at all. 

Now Aunt Katharine was a very real person, though she was also a verybusy one, and if it was sometimes difficult to get hold of her duringthe day, there was always the evening. Then she was quite ready tolisten to questions, to hear news, and to go thoroughly into any mattersof interest or difficulty which had been saved for that time. The hourimmediately after breakfast was devoted to lessons, but it was not easyto talk to Aunt Katharine then, for she had so many things on her mind. She never shortened the time, but the children knew that the moment teno'clock struck, books must be shut, and Aunt Katharine free to begin herbusy round from kitchen to dairy, from garden to poultry-yard andstables. Every part of her pleasant little kingdom was daily visited bythis active lady, and it repaid her care within and without, for no onehad such good butter, such abundance of fresh eggs, such a well-keptstable, such luxuriantly blooming flowers, and such fine vegetables. Noone had a pleasanter house, roomy and cheerful, and not too grandlyfurnished for children and animals to run about in freely. 

And Miss Chester's cares were not confined to her own possessions alone, for nothing that went on in the village of Fieldside, just outside hergates, was unknown to her. She was ready to settle disputes, to nursesickness, and to relieve distress, and was never known to fail any onewho applied to her for help. Into this life, already so full of variedbusiness, Dennis and Maisie had brought added responsibilities, and AuntKatharine had undertaken them with her usual decision and energy. Aslong as the children were babies, somewhat delicate and ailing, she hadbestowed all her thought and care upon them, and given up many outsideinterests for their sake. 

But now they were babies no longer, but had grown up healthy and strong, and by degrees she returned to her busy life, and left them a great dealto themselves. Her married sister, Mrs Trevor, who lived not far off atHaughton Park, considered her strangely neglectful of their education, but Miss Chester had her own ideas on that subject, and would not listento objections. Nothing, she insisted, was so important to children ofDennis and Maisie's age as plenty of liberty and fresh air. The timewould soon come when Dennis must go to school, and Maisie must have agoverness; until then, the daily hour in which they learned to read andwrite and to do simple sums--for Aunt Katharine was not great atfigures--was quite education enough. 

This was decidedly the opinion of the children themselves, and perhapsthey were not the worse for the free life they lived at Fieldside, happyin the companionship of all the pleasant outdoor things, and dependenton no one but themselves for amusement. But it was not all freedom. Aunt Katharine made rules, and the children knew that these must beobeyed, and were never relaxed unless for some very good reason. One ofthese rules applied to the number of pets, which had once threatened tobecome overwhelming. Cats especially began to swarm in such multitudesin the garden and house, that Aunt Katharine was obliged to take severemeasures to reduce them. That done, she made a rule. Madam, thefavourite old cat, was to be kept, but all her kittens, except one outof each family, must for the future be drowned. It was a dreadful blowto Maisie in particular, who, being a girl, was not obliged to smotherher feelings; and now, here was another of these miserable occasions--the white and grey kittens must be sent out of the world almost as soonas they had entered it!

All the while she was having her frock changed and her hair brushedbefore tea, she turned the matter over in her mind. Could she possiblyprevail on Aunt Katharine to spare the kittens this once. It seemed oddthat Aunt Katharine, who was so kind to every one, could bear to letsuch poor little helpless things be killed. Maisie supposed it must beone of those many, many things she had been told she should understandwhen she was older. Dennis always said it did not hurt them, but thoughshe looked up to him a good deal, she did not feel at all sure that hewas right in this case. At any rate, if it did not hurt the kittens, itmust be most painful for Madam to lose two of her children in such adreadful way. 

Full of those thoughts, she went down to the schoolroom, where AuntKatharine always joined the children at tea-time. She found her alreadythere, listening to Dennis, who was giving an excited account of thediscovery of Madam in the hayloft that afternoon. 

"It's _such_ a jolly little kitten we're going to keep, you can't think, Aunt Katharine, " he said; "as black as a coal all over. "

"And what does Maisie think?" said Aunt Katharine, turning to the littlegirl, who had not joined in her brother's description. "Does she likeit best too?"

Maisie's round face became very pink, and she nervously crumbled up hercake, but said nothing. 

"Would you rather keep the white one or the grey one, dear?" asked heraunt kindly. "I daresay Dennis would not mind. He shall choose nexttime. "

"We didn't choose, " put in Dennis quickly; "we cast lots, so it's quitefair. It's only, " he continued, lowering his voice confidentially, "that she doesn't like the others to be drowned. "

"Is that it, Maisie?" asked Aunt Katharine. 

Maisie nodded. She had meant to say a good deal, but now that themoment had come, her feelings were rather more than she could manage. She gazed beseechingly at Aunt Katharine, who could save the kittens byone word, and still crumbling up her cake with her little brown hands, murmured, "Just this once. "

Aunt Katharine smiled. 

"And how about my rule?" she said. "If you keep the kittens `just thisonce, ' you will want to keep the next, and the next, and we shall soonhave as many cats as there were before. That would never do. "

"There were fifteen, " said Dennis. --"Pass the cake, please, Maisie. "

Maisie gave a little gulp of disappointment. It did not seem to herthat fifteen cats were at all too many for comfort and pleasure, butAunt Katharine knew best. So she drew a small handkerchief out of herpocket, wiped the crumbs from her fingers, and struggled for composure. Both she and Dennis thought the matter quite ended, for their aunt beganto talk of other things, and after tea she read to them as usual, andnot another word was said about the kittens until bed-time. It wassurprising, therefore, to hear her say as she shut up the book:

"Children, I have something to propose to you about the kittens. Youknow I can't let you keep them, because it is against my rule, which Ishould not have made unless it had been necessary; but, if you like tofind them two good homes, I will allow you to give them away this time. "

"Oh auntie!" exclaimed Maisie, clapping her hands, "how lovely!"

"How long may we have to look out?" asked Dennis. 

"The kittens must be sent away from here this day three weeks, " saidAunt Katharine solemnly; "and remember, children, I said `two _good_homes, ' so I trust you to take trouble to find them. It would be reallykinder to drown them at once, than to send them where they might bestarved or ill-treated. "

Two good homes! It was indeed a serious responsibility, and their aunthad said the words so earnestly, that the children were both muchimpressed by them. Maisie in particular, in the midst of her rejoicingthat the kittens were saved, felt quite sobered by the burden restingupon her. 

"How ever shall we find two good homes?" she said to Dennis as they wentup-stairs. But Dennis never looked at the troublesome side of life, ifhe could avoid it. 

"It'll be jolly to keep all three of them for three weeks, won't it?" hesaid. "How pleased Madam would be if she knew!"

"We must get up very early to-morrow, and go and tell her, " said Maisie. 

"It matters most to tell Tom, " said Dennis; "because if he finds them inthe loft, he'll drown them straight off in a bucket. "

The horror of this suggestion, and the future of the two kittens if theyescaped this danger, kept Maisie awake for a long while that night. 

She slept in a tiny room opening out of Aunt Katharine's, and she knewhow dreadfully late it must be, when she heard her aunt moving about, and saw the light of her candle underneath the door. After that, however, she soon went to sleep, with the kittens, their homes, and Tomthe stable-boy, all jumbled up together in her head. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

HAUGHTON PARK. 

Before the clock had finished striking six the next morning, Dennis andMaisie were in the stable-yard. Tom was there, pumping water into apail, and Jacko the raven was there, stalking about with gravity, anduttering a deep croak now and then. Jacko was not a nice character, andmore feared than liked by most people. He was a thief and a bully, andso cunning that it was impossible to be up to all his tricks. Inmischief he delighted, and nothing pleased him more than to frighten andtease helpless things, yet, with all these bad qualities, he had beenallowed to march about for many years, unreproved, in Aunt Katharine'sstable-yard. Maisie had been very much afraid of him in the days whenshe wore socks, for he had a way of digging at her little bare legs withhis cruel beak whenever he could get near her. She was not frightenedof him now that she was older, especially when Dennis was with her, butstill she did not trust him, and took care this morning not to cross hispath on her way to speak to Tom. 

"If Jacko knew about the kittens, " remarked Dennis as they passed, "he'dgo and peck out their eyes. "

"Oh!" shuddered Maisie; "but, " she added in a whisper, for she alwaysfancied Jacko understood, "their eyes aren't open yet, and besides Madamwould claw and scratch at him. "

"He can claw and scratch too, " said Dennis. "I expect he could killMadam and her kittens easily. And then he'd bury them, just as he doeshis food, you know, and then. "

Fortunately for Maisie, who was listening with horror to this picture ofcruelty and crime, Dennis stopped at this point, for they were now closeto Tom, who with his back towards them was making a dreadful noise witha creaking pump handle. 

"I say, Tom, " he called out. Tom slowly turned his freckled face overhis shoulder, but did not leave off his work. "Madam's kittens are_not_ to be drowned, " shouted Dennis at the top of his voice. 

"They're _all_ to be saved, " added Maisie in a shriller key. --"OhDennis, I don't believe he has taken it in. Do tell him to leave offpumping. "

But just then, Tom's pails being full, he left off of his own accord, and proceeded to carry them into the stable. 

"You _do_ understand, Tom, " said Maisie anxiously, for she had an ideathat Tom rather liked drowning kittens. "_Not_ to be drowned. "

Tom's voice having answered indistinctly from one of the stalls, sheturned to follow Dennis, who was already half-way up the steep ladderwhich led to the loft. After all, Madam could not be told the goodnews, for she had gone out for a stroll, leaving her family in a littlewarm furry heap in their bed. 

"Just fancy how dreadful it would be for her if she came back and foundonly one left, " said Maisie, touching the little round heads softly withher finger. "I _am_ so glad they're not to be drowned. "

"I'm tremendously glad we're going to keep the black one ourselves, "said Dennis. "What do you think of the name of Smut?"

"I don't like it a bit, " said Maisie. 

They had got no further towards a name by breakfast time. All thosewhich Maisie liked, Dennis thought silly, and those which Dennisproposed, Maisie thought ugly, so it promised to be a difficult matterto settle. As soon as they were seated at breakfast, however, AuntKatharine made a suggestion which put the black kitten out of theirheads for the present. 

"Children, " she said, "I am going to drive over to Haughton Park tolunch this morning. If you like, you may both go with me and seePhilippa. "

There was a moment's pause, and then Dennis asked seriously:

"Shall you go anywhere besides, Aunt Katharine, or just straight there?"

"I shall only stop at Mrs Broadbent's on my way, " she replied, "to askabout so some fowls. "

The children looked at each other, but made no answer. 

"Well, " said their aunt, smiling, "I dare say you'd like to talk it overtogether. I shall start at twelve o'clock, and if you decide to go, youmust be ready to the minute, for I shall not wait for you. Do just asyou like about it. "

To go or not to go to Haughton was always a matter which requiredthought. There were things against it, and things for it. In Maisie'sopinion, there was a great deal to be liked in the visit. There was alarge, beautiful house, much larger than Fieldside, and a park with deerin it: there were all sorts of dolls and toys and pretty things whichshe enjoyed playing with, and--there was Philippa. Philippa was perhapsa doubtful pleasure, for if she was in a cross mood she was notagreeable, but there was always the chance that she would be pleasant, and then she and Maisie got on very well together with their dolls. Dennis was disposed to be rather scornful about going to Haughton, butin his case there was the attraction of the drive, when Aunt Katharinesometimes let him hold the reins, and there was the chance of herstopping at somewhere interesting on the way. Mrs Broadbent's would bebetter than nothing to-day, though it was not his favourite farmhouse. 

"I don't think I want to go _much_, " he said, as soon as he and Maisiehad reached the play-room. "Aunt Trevor's sure to have a headache, andthen we shall have to be as quiet as mice. "

"P'raps she'll let us go out with Philippa, " said Maisie. 

"Not without Miss Mervyn comes too, " said Dennis. "I don't care aboutthat--it's no fun. She's always saying, `You mustn't do this, or youmustn't do that. '"

"Well, " said Maisie, "should I go with Aunt Katharine then, and you stayat home?"

But this did not suit Dennis at all. It would never do for Maisie tocome back and describe all manner of enjoyments which he had not shared. It would be better to go and grumble than to be left at home alone. 

"Oh, I'll go, " he said, condescendingly. And so it came to pass thatwhen the ponies, Jack and Jill, came round, the children were bothwaiting in the hall, fully prepared for the drive. As she drew on herdriving gloves, Aunt Katharine gave a glance at them to see that theywere warmly wrapped up, for it was a fresh day in early spring. 

"Jump in, children, and let Mary tuck you well up; it's rather cold, "she said. --"Give me the reins, Tom. All right. "

Then came a dash down the short avenue, with Tom running before to openthe gate, and then they were in the village street, where Jack and Jillalways thought it right to plunge and shy a little. From their seat atthe back Dennis and Maisie nodded at their various acquaintances as theypassed, for they knew nearly every one. There was Mrs Gill at thepost-office, standing at her open door; there was Mr Couples, who keptthe shop; and there was Dr Price just mounting his horse, with his twoterriers, Snip and Snap, eager to follow. Above this little cluster ofhouses stood the church and the vicarage close together, on a gentlyrising hill; and the rest of the village, including two or three largefarms, was scattered about here and there, with wide spaces between. 

"Why are you going to Mrs Broadbent's, Aunt Katharine?" asked Dennis, asthey turned sharply to the right. 

"Because I want to ask her to let me have a setting of Minorcas, "replied his aunt, "and no one else keeps them. "

"And we might ask her, you know, " said Maisie, "whether she'd like oneof the kittens. I should _think_ that would be a good home, shouldn'tyou?"

"P'raps she doesn't like cats, " said Dennis carelessly. "We've gotthree weeks, so it really doesn't matter much yet. "

The Broadbents' square white house now came in sight. It had a trimgarden, a tennis ground, and a summer-house, and was completely screenedfrom the farm-buildings by a gloomy row of fir-trees. The children didnot as a rule care to pay visits to Mrs Broadbent, for there were noanimals or interesting things about; but to-day Maisie asked leave to goin, for she had the kittens on her mind, and felt she must not lose achance. 

Mrs Broadbent was a thin little widow, who wore smart caps, and had ageneral air of fashion about her person. She was sharp and clever, wellup to the business of managing her large farm, and familiar with everydetail of it. Unfortunately she considered this a thing to be ashamedof, and, much to Miss Chester's annoyance, always pretended ignorancewhich did not exist. What she was proud of, and thrust foremost in herconversation, were the accomplishments of two highly-educated daughters, who painted on china, and played the violin, and on this subject shereceived no encouragement from Aunt Katharine. 

"I shouldn't have thought of disturbing you so early, Mrs Broadbent, "she said briskly, when they were seated in the smart littledrawing-room, "but I've come on business. I want to know if you've asetting of Minorca fowls to dispose of. I've a fancy to rear some. "

Mrs Broadbent simpered a little and put her head on one side. 

"I've no doubt we can oblige you, Miss Chester, " she said. "I'll speakto my poultry-man about it, and let you know. "

"How many Minorcas have you?" asked Miss Chester. 

"Oh, I really couldn't tell you, Miss Chester, " replied Mrs Broadbentwith a little laugh. "I never thought of inquiring. "

"Not know how many of each sort of fowls you have!" exclaimed AuntKatharine. "Why, if I had a farm, I'd know every one of them by sight, and how many eggs they each laid. I suppose, though, " she added, "youleave that to your daughters. They must be a great help to you. "

Mrs Broadbent bridled:

"Emmeline and Lilian are far too much engaged, " she said, "with theirstudies and their artistic work. Emmeline's quite devoted herself toart. I've given her a large room at the top of the house for a studio. "

"Indeed, " said Miss Chester coldly. "And what does she do in it?"

"Just now she's painting some lovely plaques, " said Mrs Broadbent, "andLilian's quite taken to the new poker-work. "

"What is that?" asked her visitor. 

"You haven't seen it, Miss Chester? Well, it _is_ quite new, and as Iwas saying the other day, in these remote parts we don't see anything, do we? But Lilian's been staying in London, and she learned it there. She did that frame. "

It seemed that poker-work was intended to have the effect of carving, which was produced by burning patterns on wood with a red-hotinstrument. 

"Well, if you ask my candid opinion, " said Aunt Katharine, rising tolook at the frame, "I should like it much better plain; but it's aharmless amusement, if wasting time is ever harmless. --Come Maisie, Dennis will be quite tired of waiting. --You'll let me know about theeggs, Mrs Broadbent, and their price. I shall be much obliged if youcan spare me a setting. "

In another moment Aunt Katharine would have swept out of the room, withher usual activity, but after waiting so long for a pause in theconversation, Maisie could not give up her purpose. 

"Do you want a cat, please?" she said, standing in front of MrsBroadbent--"that is, a nice little kitten. One of our cat Madam's. "

But Mrs Broadbent was quite certain that she did not want a cat, andsaid so with some sharpness, for she was never pleased at Miss Chester'soutspoken opinions, though she was used to them. She had too many catsabout the place now. She supposed as long as there were mice there mustbe cats, but to her mind there was not much to choose between them. 

"I don't really suppose it would have been a good home, " said Maisie, when she was tucked in again beside Dennis; "Mrs Broadbent doesn't likecats, and she looked quite cross when I asked her, but I think that wasbecause Aunt Katharine didn't like Lilian's poker-work frame. "

Haughton Park, towards which Jack and Jill were now quickly making theirway, was about four miles from Fieldside, and just outside the littletown of Upwell. It was a large house, standing in a park of someextent, and was built in what was called the Italian style, withterraces in front of it, and stone balustrades, and urns and vaseswherever they could be put. Inside, the rooms were very large andlofty, and there was a great hall with marble pillars, and a hugestaircase with statues in niches all the way up. Perhaps from someassociation with the sound of the name, Maisie always thought it was aproud cold house, which could not stoop to notice any one who came inand out of its doors, and did not mind whether they went or stayed. Yet, from its very unlikeness to Fieldside, it had a certain fascinationfor her, and she could not help admiring it. 

Here, in lonely grandeur, lived Aunt Katharine's widowed sister, MrsTrevor, with her daughter Philippa, who was just ten years old. MrsTrevor had always wondered why her brother, Captain Chester, had notsent Dennis and Maisie to Haughton to be educated with Philippa. Surelynothing could have been more suitable or better for the children!

But by some extraordinary blindness, he had passed over his elder sisterand all her possessions, and chosen Katharine as their guardian untilhis return from India. When he did return, thought Mrs Trevor, he wouldsee what a mistake he had made; even now, if he knew what odd ideasKatharine had, and how she allowed the children to run wild, andassociate with the villagers, he would regret his choice--but it was noaffair of hers. Nevertheless, it always gave her a sense of injury tosee Dennis and Maisie with their Aunt Katharine. It was not that sheenvied her the charge of them, for she was, or fancied she was, somewhatof an invalid, and would have disliked the trouble. But she felt shehad been slighted when the children were sent to Fieldside, and a slightwas a thing she could not forget. 

Mrs Trevor received her visitors this morning in her boudoir, and roseto greet them languidly from her low chair--a tall elegant figure, insoft clinging robes. The room was full of the heavy scent of hyacinths, and warm with the spring sunshine and a bright fire. As Aunt Katharineentered with her usual alert step, she seemed to bring a great deal ofcold air and life into it from the outside world. The children followedher rather shyly. 

"Here we are, you see, " she said, in her loud, cheerful voice. "How areyou, Helen? You look rather white. "

"I am suffering from my old enemy to-day, " replied Mrs Trevor, with aforced smile; "my head is very painful. "

"Ah, " said Aunt Katharine, pulling off her gloves briskly, "a littlefresh air is the best cure for that. To be shut up in this warm roomwith all those flowers is enough to poison you. Wouldn't you like awindow open?"

"Pray, Katharine!" exclaimed Mrs Trevor, putting up her hand with ashudder; "the very idea destroys me. It is an east wind. Warmth andrest are the only cure. " She put up her double eye-glasses, and lookedat Dennis and Maisie. "Did you drive over? How are the children?"

"As jolly as possible, " said Aunt Katharine. She stood on thehearthrug, flapping her gloves against one hand. Maisie always thoughtthat her aunt wore shorter skirts, rougher tweed dresses, and stouterboots when she came to Haughton, than at any other time. Also, sheseemed to speak louder, and to look rosier and broader altogether. Perhaps this only seemed to be so, because Aunt Trevor's skin was sofair, and her voice so gentle, and because she wore such graceful softgowns, and such tiny satin slippers. Maisie was very fond of AuntKatharine, but she admired Aunt Trevor's appearance immensely, andalways gazed at her as though she were a picture hanging on the wall. Dennis did not share in this. He fidgeted about in his chair, fingeredthe things in his pockets, hoped it would soon be time for luncheon, andwondered whether he and Maisie would be allowed to go out first. 

"Ah, here is Philippa!" said Aunt Katharine. 

A little girl of about Maisie's age--but so much taller and slighterthat she looked a great deal older--came into the room. She had ratherlong features, a pointed chin, and a very pure white complexion, withhardly a tinge of colour; and, as she ran forward to kiss her littlebrown-faced cousins, she was a great contrast to them in every way. Herdress, which was prettily made and fanciful, and her gleaming bronzeshoes added to this; for Dennis and his sister seldom wore anything butserge or holland, and their boots were of strong country make, whichmade their feet look rather clumsy. 

"If the children _must_ wear such thick boots, Katharine, " Mrs Trevoroften said, "you might at least have them made to fit. It gives themthe air of little clodhoppers. "

But Miss Chester went her own way, and Aunt Trevor's objections had noeffect on her arrangements. 

"Ask if we may go out!" said Dennis, in an urgent whisper to his cousin, who at once ran up to her mother, and repeated the request in the midstof her conversation with Aunt Katharine. Mrs Trevor cast an anxiousglance out the window. 

"Well, my darling, as you have a cold and the wind is in the east, Ithink you had better play indoors. You can take your cousins into thelong gallery and have a nice game. "

Philippa frowned and pushed out her lower lip:

"I want to go out, " she murmured. 

"But your cough, my dearest, " said her mother in a pleading tone. --"Whatdo you say, Katharine? Would it not be more prudent for her to keepindoors?"

"I think it would be best for her to do as you wish, " said AuntKatharine, with a half smile at Philippa's pouting lips. 

"I _must_ go out with Dennis and Maisie, " said the little girl in awhining voice. 

"Dennis and Maisie will be quite happy indoors, " said Mrs Trevorentreatingly; "you can show them your new violin, you know, and playthem a tune. "

"I don't want to, " said Philippa, with a rising sob. 

Mrs Trevor looked alarmed. 

"My darling, don't excite yourself, " she said; "we will see--we will askMiss Mervyn. Perhaps if you are very warmly wrapped up. "

Philippa's brow cleared at once. 

"Then we may go?" she said. 

"Ask Miss Mervyn to come and speak to me a moment, " said her mother. "Such a difficult, delicate temperament to deal with, " she continued, asthe door closed on her daughter. "Not like a commonplace nature, " witha glance at Dennis and Maisie; "so excitable, that it makes her ill tobe thwarted in any way. Indeed the doctor forbids it. "

"How bad for her!" said Aunt Katharine bluntly. "Children are neverhappy until they learn to obey. "

"That sort of system may answer with some children, " said Mrs Trevor;"but my poor delicate Philippa requires infinite tact. "

"What do you think, Miss Mervyn, " as a thin, careworn-looking ladyentered, "of Philippa going out to-day? She wants to take her cousinsinto the garden for a little while. "

Miss Mervyn looked anxiously from mother to daughter. 

"She _has_ been coughing this morning, and the wind _is_ cold, " shebegan, when she was interrupted by an angry burst of tears fromPhilippa. 

"I _must_ go out, " she cried between her sobs. "You're a cross thing tosay it's cold. I _will_ go out. "

"There, there, my darling, " said Mrs Trevor; "do control yourself. Youshall go. --Pray, Miss Mervyn, take care that she is warmly dressed, andhas goloshes and a thick veil. You will, of course, go with thechildren, and keep to the sheltered places, and on no account allowPhilippa to run on the grass or to get overheated. "

Philippa's tears and sobs ceased at once, and soon muffled up to theeyes, she was ready to go out with her cousins, followed by the patientMiss Mervyn, and Mrs Trevor was left at liberty to bestow some attentionon her guest. As soon as they were out of sight of the windows, Philippa's first action was to tear off the white knitted shawl whichwas wrapped round her neck and mouth. 

"If you don't keep that on, we must go in again, " said Miss Mervyn. 

"I won't wear it, and I won't go in, " said Philippa. "If you teaseabout it, I shall scream, and then I shall be ill; and then it will beyour fault. "

Poor Miss Mervyn shook her head, but after a few mild persuasions gavein, and Philip had her way as usual, not only in this, but in everythingthat she wished to do throughout the walk. Dennis and Maisie were usedto seeing this whenever they came to Haughton, but it never ceased tosurprise them, because it was so very different from their unquestioningobedience to rules at Fieldside. It certainly did not seem to makePhilippa happy or pleasant. Although she did what she liked, she neverappeared to like what she did, and was always wanting somethingdifferent, and complaining about everything. 

"Let's go back now, " she said at last, dragging her feet slowly througha puddle as she spoke; "my feet are wet. "

"I should think they were, " sighed Miss Mervyn. "Come, let us makehaste home, so that you may have your boots and stockings changed. "

But the perverse Philippa would not hurry. She now lingered behind theothers, and even stood still now and then, causing Miss Mervyn greatmisery. "She will certainly take cold, " she murmured. "Cannot youpersuade her, my dears, to come on. "

"Let's have a race, Philippa, as far as the house, " called out Dennis. 

Running fast had been forbidden, so it was perhaps on that accountattractive to Philippa, who at once consented to the proposal, and MissMervyn, thinking it the less of two evils, made no objection. 

"Maisie must have a start because she's the smallest, " said Dennis, placing his sister a little in front; "now, one, two, three, off!"

The little flying figures sped away towards the house, and Miss Mervynfollowing, was pleased to see that Dennis allowed Philippa to win therace; that would perhaps make her more good-tempered. 

"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Philippa, pointing a scornful finger at Maisie asshe came panting up last, with her round cheeks very red. "What a slowcoach! Maisie's too fat to run. "

"She's younger than we are, " said Dennis, who did not allow any one buthimself to tease his sister. 

"There's not much difference, " said Philippa, as the children walked upto the house; "in three weeks it will be my birthday, and I shall benine. "

"Mine isn't for three more months, " said Maisie. 

"Any one would think me quite twelve years old, " said Philippa, with herchin in the air, "because I'm tall and slight. Maisie has such a babylook. --I'm going to have a party on my birthday. "

"Are you?" said Maisie with sudden interest. 

She gave Dennis's arm a squeeze, to make him understand she had just gota good idea; but he only stared round at her, and said, "Don't pinchso, " and Philippa continued:

"Yes, I shall have a party, and a birthday cake, and magnificentpresents. "

"Can you guess what they will be?" asked Maisie. 

"Mother says she won't tell me what hers is, " said Philippa; "but Ishall make her. "

"How?"

"Oh, " said Philippa carelessly, "if I want to know very much, I shallcry, and then I always get what I want. "

Philippa was not in a nice mood to-day, and did not improve at luncheon, for her wants and whims seemed to engross every one's attention. IfAunt Katharine tried to turn the conversation to something moreinteresting, Philippa's whining voice broke in, and Mrs Trevor at onceceased to listen to anything else. 

It was a relief to the whole party, when, early in the afternoon, AuntKatharine and her charges were settled once more in the pony-cart, andon their way home to Fieldside. 

"Don't you know why I poked you just after the race?" said Maisie to herbrother, as they drove out of the lodge gates. 

"Because Philippa said such stupid things, I suppose, " said Dennis. 

"It wasn't that at all, " she replied earnestly; "it was because I'd justthought of a good home for one of the kittens. Wouldn't it be splendidto give it to Philippa for a birthday present? It will be just threeweeks old. "

"H'm, " said Dennis doubtfully. He really thought it a capital idea, buthe never liked to encourage Maisie too much. 

She looked round at him, her brown eyes bright with excitement. 

"It would be a magnificent home, " she continued, "_more_ than a goodone. It would have nice things to eat, and soft things to lie on, and acollar round its neck, and all those beautiful rooms to run about in!"

"I suppose they'd be kind to it, " said Dennis. "I don't think _I_should like to live at Haughton Park. "

"Of course not, without Aunt Katharine agreed, " said Maisie; "butsupposing Haughton Park was hers, wouldn't you like it better thanFieldside?"

"No, " said Dennis promptly; "not half so well. At Fieldside you've onlyto run down the avenue, and there you are in the middle of the village, and only a short way off the Manor Farm. And at Haughton you have to gothrough the Park, where no one lives, and through three gates, and thenyou're only in the Upwell road. It's much duller. "

"There are the deer, " said Maisie. 

"But you can't talk to the deer, " replied Dennis; "and though they'retame, they're rather stupid, I think. "

"Well, " said Maisie, "_I_ like some things at Haughton very much, and Idaresay the kitten will. A cat's quite different from a boy, isn't it?"

"Which shall we give?" asked Dennis, warming a little to the idea. 

"The white, _of course_, " said Maisie at once. 

She spoke so decidedly, that Dennis felt she must have some good reason, though he could not see why the white should be preferred to the grey. 

Maisie could not explain herself, however. She only repeated that _ofcourse_ the white kitten was the right one to go to Haughton, and thoughshe generally yielded to Dennis, she remained firm in this, and by thetime they reached home the matter was quite settled. The white kittenwas thus provided with a good home; and though, on thinking it over, Maisie doubted whether Philippa would consider it a "magnificentpresent, " she had no misgivings as to its future happiness. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

OLD SALLY'S ELIZA. 

The time soon came when Madam was allowed to bring her kittens into theplay-room, where they lived in a basket near the French window, throughwhich she could go in and out at her pleasure. 

Dennis and Maisie were now able to make their close acquaintance, and toobserve that they were not at all alike either in appearance orcharacter. The black one continued to be the finest of the three. There could be no question that his coat was sleeker, his tail morebushy, his whole shape more substantial, and even at this early age heshowed signs of a bold and daring disposition. 

When his mother had disposed herself for a comfortable nap, with hereyes shut and her paws tucked in, he would suddenly dart from someambush, his eyes gleaming with mischief and leap upon her back. Soundlycuffed for this, he would meekly retreat until Madam had dropped offagain, when he would come dancing up sideways, on the tips of his toes, with his back hunched, and every hair bristling, and tweak her by thetail. After these pranks had been repeated many times, the old catwould rise and wrestle with him, rolling over and over on the ground, kicking and biting, until he was subdued for a little while. But he wasnever good for long, and gave her more trouble than the other two puttogether. 

The white kitten was of a very different nature. It was decidedly primin its ways, and very particular about its appearance, so that itlearned sooner than the others to wash its face, and attend to itstoilet. While the black kitten struggled violently when he was washed, and had to be held firmly down all the while, the white one seemed toenjoy licking its fur with its own rough little tongue, and to be quitevexed if it found a dirty spot on its coat. "It's a good thing it's soparticular, " said Maisie, "because it would look so very bad if itwasn't quite clean. " It had rather a meaningless face, a long thinnose, and mincing, dainty ways of walking and taking its food. Secretly, Maisie thought it rather like Philippa, for its temper wassomewhat peevish, and it often mewed in a dissatisfied manner fornothing at all; but she kept this fancy to herself, for she knew thatDennis would only call her silly if she mentioned it. 

As for the grey kitten, it was the smallest and weakest of the three, the most easily imposed upon, and the most amiable. When the saucer ofmilk was put down, the others would thrust their heads greedily into it, and push the grey kitten aside, so that it could scarcely get any. Maisie was obliged to keep a close watch at such times, to see that ithad its share, and to correct the conduct of the other two. It was thesame thing in their gambols with their mother, or with a cork at the endof a string. The grey kitten seemed to be considered as a mere sportand joke for the other two, who tossed and tumbled it about as if itwere nothing: even Madam did not take its part, and often boxed its earsfor nothing but awkwardness. 

All this, however, did not sour its temper in the least, and after theworst slight or roughest usage it was quite ready to purr and bepleased. Maisie thought this very nice of it, and she was sure it wasanxious to do well, if it only knew how. It would allow her, with veryfew struggles, to dress it in a doll's nightgown and cap, and put it tosleep in a cradle; which neither of the others would submit to for amoment. By degrees she became very fond of it, and the more she tookits part and defended it from ill-treatment, the more her affectionincreased. It was therefore distressing to remember, as the days wenton, that though the white kitten had a home to look forward to, therewas yet no such prospect for the grey one. 

"It's getting dreadfully near the time, " she said one morning to Dennis, who was trying to teach the black kitten to jump through his hands;"only ten days more, and we haven't got a good home for the grey kittenyet. "

"It's such a common, mean thing, " said Dennis, casting a scornful glanceat it. "No one could want to have it. "

"It's very affectionate, though, " said Maisie, "and it purrs more thanany of them. I believe it might grow pretty when it's older. "

"Not it, " said Dennis. "Why, there are lots of cats like it in thevillage now. Just long, lean, striped things. I don't believe you'dknow it apart from them when it's grown up. --Oh, look, Maisie, look! Hejumped, he really did. "

Maisie looked, but the black kitten turned sulky, and refused to doanything but back away from Dennis's hands with its ears flattened. 

"It's quite in a temper, " she said. "Now the grey kitten _always_ triesto do what you tell it. "

"Only it's so stupid that it never knows what you want it to do, " saidDennis, as he gave up his efforts and let the kitten scamper back to itsmother. 

"Well, at any rate, " said Maisie, returning to her subject, "we've gotto find it a home, and we haven't asked every one yet. Who is thereleft? Let me see. There's the vicarage, and Dr Price, and, oh Dennis, perhaps old Sally would like it!"

Dennis shrugged his shoulders, but he was quite ready to agree that oldSally should be asked, because he was always glad of any excuse to gonear the Manor Farm, which he thought the nicest place in the village orout of it. It was not only pretty and interesting in itself with itssubstantial grey stone outbuildings, and pigeonry and rick-yard, but Mrand Mrs Andrew Solace lived there, and they were, the children thought, such very agreeable people. There had always been a Solace at the ManorFarm within the memory of old Sally, who was very old indeed, but theyfelt sure none of them could have been so pleasant as the present one. "Young Master Andrew, " old Sally called him, though he was a stout, middle-aged man with grizzled hair; but she gave him this name becauseshe had worked for his father and grandfather, and could "mind" him whenhe was a little boy of Dennis's age. For the same reason, she nevercould bring herself to think him equal to the management of such a verylarge farm, "'undreds of acres, " as she said. It was a greatundertaking for "young Master Andrew, " and though every one round knewthat there were few better farmers, old Sally always shook her head overit. 

Manor Farm was in every respect just the opposite of the "Green Farm, "where the Broadbents lived. There was nothing smart or trim or newabout it, and the house and farm-buildings were comfortably mixed uptogether, so that the farmer seemed to live in the midst of his barnsand beasts. It was a very old house, with a square flagged hall and abroad oak staircase. There were beams showing across the low ceilings, and wide window-seats, which were always full of all sorts of thingsflung there "to be handy. " Some of the rooms were panelled, and all thefurniture in them was old-fashioned and dark with age. Dogs and catswalked in and out at their pleasure, and though Mrs Solace sometimeschased them all out for a few minutes, they soon returned again throughwindows and doors, and made themselves quite at home. Mrs Solace wastoo busy to trouble herself much about them, and also too good-natured, so that the animals knew they could do pretty well as they liked. 

It was this complete freedom that made the Manor Farm so delightful toDennis and Maisie, who ran in and out very much as the cats and dogsdid, and always found something to interest and amuse them. If MrsSolace were too much occupied in dairy, laundry, or store-room to givethem her attention, they had only to go into the farm-yard to besurrounded by friends and acquaintances. Some of these, it is true, disappeared from time to time, but you had hardly missed them beforethere was something new to take their place. The great browncart-horses, at any rate, were always to be found after their work, andalways ready to bow their huge heads and take apples or sugar gentlywith their soft lips. And in summer it was pleasant to be there just atmilking time, and watch the cows saunter slowly home across the fields, to stand in a long patient row in the shed, to be milked. 

Indeed it would be hard to say what time was not pleasant at the farm, for in such a large family of creatures there was always somethinghappening of the very deepest interest to the children. In the springthey were quite as anxious and eager about successful broods of earlyducklings, or the rearing of the turkeys as Mrs Solace was herself, andshe was secure of their heartfelt sympathy when the fox made away withher poultry. 

For unlike Mrs Broadbent, Mrs Solace not only knew all about suchmatters, but liked nothing so well as to talk of them. 

"When I'm a man, " Dennis would say, "I mean to be a farmer. "

"So do I, " Maisie would answer. 

"You couldn't be, " Dennis would argue. "How could you go rook-shooting?You know you scream when a gun goes off; and besides, you're afraid ofthe turkey-cock. "

"Well, then, " Maisie would conclude, deeply conscious that both thesefacts were true, "I'll be a farmer's wife, and rear turkeys; that'squite as hard as shooting rooks, and much usefuller. "

"That it is, dearie, " Mrs Solace would agree, with her comfortablelaugh. "Puley pingling things they are, and want as much care aschildren. "

But apart from the animals, there was to Dennis one corner at the ManorFarm which had special attractions, and that was where the wheelwrightworked. It was a long narrow barn fitted up as a carpenter's shop, witha bench and a lathe and all manner of tools: full of shavings andsawdust, planks of wood and half-finished farm implements. Here thewheelwright stood and worked all day. He made and mended carts, wheelbarrows, ladders, hay-rakes, and all sorts of things used in thefarm, and had always as much as he could do. Dennis liked nothingbetter than a little quiet time with Tuvvy, as he was called, and thoughhe did not talk much, he eyed all his movements with such earnestattention that it may be supposed he learned something of carpentering. 

Tuvvy's movements were nimble and neat, for he was a clever workman, andknew what he was about: now and then he would cast a swift glance roundat Dennis out of his bright black eyes, but he never paused in his workto talk, and there was seldom any sound in the barn but that of the sawand hammer, or the whirring of the lathe. His skin was so very dark, and his hair so black and long, that people called him a gypsy, andDennis knew that he was a little wild sometimes, because old Sally shookher head when she mentioned him. 

That meant that Tuvvy was not always quite sober, which was a greatpity, because he was so clever, that he could earn a great deal if hekept steady. In the barn, however, he was as steady and hard-working asa man could be, and what his conduct was out of it, did not at allaffect Dennis's attachment and admiration. Maisie always knew, if shemissed her brother during one of their visits to the farm, that sheshould find him in the barn staring at Tuvvy at his work; and he haddone this so much, that he began to feel as though he had helped to makeMr Solace's carts and barrows. 

All this made him quite ready to agree with Maisie's suggestion, foralthough he was not very anxious about the grey kitten's welfare, hethought there might be a chance of slipping round to see how Tuvvy wasgetting on. 

"Where shall we go first?" said Maisie, as they started on theirexpedition, with Peter, the little rough dog, barking round them. "Thevicarage comes first, and then Dr Price, and then old Sally. "

"All right, " said Dennis; "that's the best last, and the worst first. "

The vicarage stood on a little hill close to the church, looking down onthe village street. 

"I don't much think Miss Hurst will want it, " said Maisie, as theyturned up the steep lane; "because, you see, she's got such a very petcat. Else that would be a very good home. "

"She might like it for a kitchen cat, " said Dennis, "to catch rats andmice. "

"_Ye-es_, " said Maisie. She did not much like the idea of the greykitten in such a position. Still, Miss Hurst was so very kind andgentle, that it was likely even the kitchen cat would be well treated inher house. 

The vicarage reached, however, and the old question put, it turned outthat Maisie had been right. Miss Hurst, who was a meek-faced littlelady with very smooth hair and a kind smile, was afraid she could nothave two cats. It might upset Mopsy. And Mopsy was such an old friend, that it would not be fair to make him unhappy for the sake of a new one. She was afraid she must say no. So the grey kitten was again refused, and when the children set out on their farther journey, Maisie was quitein low spirits. Nobody wanted the grey kitten. 

"We've got two chances left, " said Dennis, trying to console her. "Andif _I_ were the kitten, I'd much rather live with Dr Price than at thevicarage. "

"But you're not a kitten--you're a boy, " said Maisie despairingly, "andthat makes a great deal of difference. "

"Dr Price is splendid, _I_ think, " continued Dennis. "Just see how hecan ride, and how he cures people, and how kind he is to them abouttheir bills. "

"Why do you suppose Aunt Katharine has Dr Smith over from Upwell to seeus when we're ill, " asked Maisie, "when Dr Price is quite close, and soclever?"

"Well, " said Dennis gravely, "you mustn't say anything, but I_believe_--that is, I've heard one or two of them say in the village--that he sometimes--is--like Tuvvy, you know. "

"Oh!" said Maisie, with her eyes very wide open. 

"And that, you see, " went on Dennis instructively, "is very bad for adoctor, because he may mix up the wrong things together and kill people. But for all that, they say they'd rather have him, even when he's alittle `nervous, ' than any one else, because he's so clever and so kind. Why, he sat up all night with Widow Hutchins's son, who had sergestionof the lungs, and then he wouldn't take a penny because she's so poor. "

"What a pity he's ever like Tuvvy, " said Maisie. 

"And then, you see, " continued Dennis, who loved to repeat the gossip hepicked up in the village, "he's so dreadfully fond of horses andhunting, that whenever there's a meet near, he _can't help_ going, andif he goes, he _has_ to follow, and then he can't leave off. Sosometimes, when there is an accident, or anything, and he's wanted herevery badly, he's quite the other side of the county!"

Maisie nodded her head gravely as she heard of those little weaknesses;and just then, reaching the foot of the hill which led down from thevicarage, they came into the village again, and there was Dr Pricehimself standing at his gate, facing them. 

He was a broad, strongly-built man of about five-and-forty, with aclean-shaven square face, and very fair hair and eyebrows. These lookedcuriously light on his red-brown skin, which was of an even tint allover, as though used to encounter wind and rough weather. He was soconstantly on horseback, that it seemed strange to see him standing onhis own legs, and more so to see him walk, which, indeed, he did with anodd movement of the knees, as though it were some difficult exercise. He wore riding-boots and breeches, and had a short pipe in his mouth. At his heels were his two white terriers, Snip and Snap. 

As Maisie's eye fell on the dogs, she stopped short, and caught hold ofDennis by the arm. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed; "I forgot. "

"Forgot what?" he answered, with a pull forward. "Don't be stupid. Come on. "

"Why, Snip and Snap, " said Maisie eagerly, still holding back. "Itwouldn't be a good home. They'd chase it. Don't let's speak to DrPrice about it. It wouldn't be any use. "

"We must speak to him now, " said Dennis, going steadily on, and draggingMaisie with him. "Perhaps he'll know of some one, if he can't have ithimself. _You_ ask, " he added hurriedly, as they came close to thedoctor. 

Dr Price took off his hat, and smiled down very kindly at Maisie, as sheput her question. She spoke hesitatingly, for the sight of Snip andSnap had reminded her of their habits. On most days their swift whiteforms were to be seen scouring over the country in search of rabbits, orother small defenceless creatures. Dr Price on horseback, and histerriers on foot, were well known for many miles round Fieldside, andMaisie could not help thinking them most unsuitable companions for thegrey kitten. 

This seemed to strike the doctor himself. 

"Well now, that's very kind of you, Miss Maisie, " he said, lookingthoughtfully at the bowl of his pipe; "but the fact is I'm not much of ahand at cats myself. And then--there are the dogs, you see--"

"Would they chase it?" asked Maisie, glancing at them. 

"Why, they're thoroughbred, you know, " said the doctor apologetically. 

"What a pity!" said Maisie, who thought it must be some very badquality. 

"Well, " said the doctor, with a short laugh, "I like them all the betterfor it myself; but I'm afraid the kitten wouldn't stand much chance, andthat's a fact. "

"Oh, I wouldn't let it come here for _anything_, " said Maisie with ashiver. "Why do you keep such cruel dogs?"

"As to that, you know, Miss Maisie, " said the doctor, "it isn't cruellerto hunt a cat than a fox. "

"But that's cruel too, " said Maisie, "very cruel indeed. "

Here Dennis felt it time to interfere. 

"Don't be stupid, Maisie, " he said; "you're only a girl. You don'tunderstand. Of course, people must hunt. "

So here was another failure, for not only was Dr Price's home out of thequestion, but he could not think of any one who wanted a kitten. Everybody had cats; they seemed to be all over the place. If it was apuppy now. He cast an admiring glance at Snip and Snap, who stood insprightly attitudes, one on each side of the little rough dog Peter, their eager bodies quivering, their short tails wagging, ready for thefirst signs of warfare. But Peter knew better. He was old and he waswise. He did not like Snip and Snap, but he was not going to beprovoked into a fight in which he was sure to be worsted. So he heldhimself stiffly upright, uttered a low growl of contempt, and took nofurther notice of them. 

"And now, " said Maisie, when they had said good-bye to Dr Price, andwere on their way again, with Peter trotting in front, "there's reallyonly one more chance left. "

There were two ways to old Sally's cottage, and Maisie knew Dennis wouldbe sure to choose the one which led across the rick-yard of the ManorFarm; indeed, she liked this best herself except for one reason, andthat was the risk of meeting the turkey-cock. It was useless for Dennisto say, "He won't gobble if you're not frightened of him. " She always_was_ frightened, and he always _did_ gobble, and turned purple withrage, and swelled out all his feathers, and shook a loose scarlet thingwhich hung down from his neck. They met him to-day, marching at thehead of his ladylike wives, who followed him delicately, picking theirway and lifting their feet high. Their small heads and quietly eleganttoilets made them look rather like Aunt Trevor, Maisie thought. 

"Now, walk slowly, " said Dennis, and she did try to control her fears;but as usual, the moment the turkey-cock began to gobble, she began torun, and did not stop until she was safe on the other side of the gate. From this refuge she watched Dennis, admiring him greatly as he cameslowly on, shaking his stick in the turkey-cock's face, and was quiteready to agree with him when he called her a coward. 

"Only I can't help it, " she added. 

"But you ought to, " was Dennis's reply. "It's silly, even for a girl, to be afraid of a turkey-cock. "

Old Sally's thatched cottage was so near the farm-buildings that italmost looked like one of them, but a narrow lane really ran between, and it stood on its own little plot of ground. At its door there was animmense horse-chestnut, which she could "mind, " she said, helping toplant when she was a girl. She had held it straight in the hole whileold Mr Solace, the grandfather of this young Master Andrew, had filledin the earth. She was most sorry to think she had done it now, for thisungrateful tree so shaded her window that it made her cottage dark, andbesides this, choked up her well, by dropping its great leaves into itin the autumn. 

Old Sally could "mind" so many things on account of her age, that shewas a most amusing and instructive person to visit. She had worked forthe Solaces as child, girl, and woman, and now she was pensioned off, and allowed to live in her cottage rent-free with her one remainingunmarried daughter, Anne, of whom she always spoke as her "good child. "Anne was over seventy years old, and weakly with bad health andrheumatism, so that there was nothing very youthful about her. Indeed, when they sat side by side, both in sunbonnets which they wore indoorsand out, it was difficult to say which was the elder of the two oldwomen. 

Old Sally, in spite of a long life of hard work, was still straight andwiry, and her brown old face, wrinkled as a withered nut, was lively andshrewd. There was only one point in which Anne had the advantage, andthat was in hearing, for her mother was very deaf, and obliged to use atrumpet. This she was always shy of producing, and to-day she allowedAnne to scream into her ear what the children said for some time; but atlast, seeing a very earnest expression on Maisie's face, she took thetrumpet out with a bashful smile and presented the end to her. 

"Do you know any one who wants a kitten?" shouted Maisie. 

Old Sally laid down the trumpet and turned to Anne, who as usual sat ather elbow in her lilac sun-bonnet and coarse apron. 

"Warn't our Eliza talking of cats last time she was over?" she asked. 

Anne nodded. 

"Who's Eliza?" inquired Dennis. 

"Why, sure you know our Eliza, Master Dennis, " said old Sally. "Her asmarried the tinsmith, and went to live in Upwell town. Eliza's myyoungest darter but two. Don't you mind her wedding?"

"Lor, mother!" said Anne, "Master Dennis and Miss Maisie warn't livingat Fieldside then. It's a good twelve years ago. --Mother forgets thingslike that, " she added aside to the children, "though she's a wonderfulmemory for ancient things. "

"Would it be a good home, do you think?" said Maisie to Dennis in a lowtone. 

"Is your daughter Eliza a kind woman?" shouted Dennis down the trumpet. 

Old Sally dropped her trumpet and raised both her withered hands onhigh. 

"Kind! Master Dennis. Eliza's downright silly about dumb animals. Shealways was from a gal. "

"We don't want her to be silly, " said Dennis, "but we do want her to bekind, because we've promised Aunt Katharine to find a good home. "

Both old Sally and Anne were full of assurances as to Eliza's kindnessand the comforts which would surround the grey kitten in her house. Certainly it would have to catch mice, but that, they declared, was apleasure to a cat, and could not be called hard work. So after a littleconsultation it was settled that the kitten should be brought to oldSally's, and that Eliza should take it back to Upwell the very next timeshe came over to see her mother. The grey kitten had a home at last. This arrangement made, Dennis got up briskly, with a business-like air. 

"I'm going to see Tuvvy now, " he said. "I'll come back for youpresently, Maisie;" and he was almost out of the door before he wasstopped by a call from Anne. 

"You'll not find him to-day, Master Dennis, " she said. "He's not atwork. "

"Not at work!" repeated Dennis, turning round with a downcast face. "Why isn't he at work? Is he ill?"

Old Sally had been screwing up her lips and shaking her head solemnlyever since Tuvvy's name had been mentioned. At Dennis's question herface looked full of dark meaning. 

"Worse nor that, " she said. "He's had a bout. He'll do it once toooften, and get sacked. He can't expect Master Andrew to put up withit. "

"But he couldn't ever get such a good wheelwright as Tuvvy again, couldhe?" said Dennis eagerly. "Tuvvy can do so many things, and he's soclever and quick. "

"Oh, he's _clever_ enough, and he's _quick_ enough, is Tuvvy, " agreedold Sally: "'tain't that; but he can't keep steady--that's where it is. He'll go on right enough for a bit, and then he'll have a reg'larbreak-out. It's cruel hard on his wife and children, so it is. "

"Why _does_ he do it?" said Dennis mournfully. 

Old Sally gave a sort of low chuckle. 

"Lor, Master Dennis, the men are made like that. They can't help it. "

Dennis usually took all old Sally said for granted, considering that herknowledge of men and things must be very great, but he hesitated alittle at this sweeping remark. 

"They're not _all_ like that, " he said; "there's Mr Hurst, and MrSolace, and a whole lot more. Do you think Mr Solace will turn Tuvvyaway this time?"

But as to this, neither old Sally nor Anne could give any idea at all. Mr Solace was a kind man for certain, but then again he was a just mantoo, and a man of his word. Anne had heard him say with her own earsthat the next time Tuvvy broke out, he would get the sack. But therewas no telling. 

Dennis left the cottage with a weight on his mind which nothing couldlift. One of his greatest pleasures would be gone if there were noTuvvy in the barn for the future. A new wheelwright would most likelybe a complete stranger, and not the same thing at all. Why would he beso silly as to break out? Could nothing be done to stop him?

Maisie, too, was rather sober and silent on the way back, for though ahome for the grey kitten had now been found, she felt that she shouldmiss it very much, and could not bear the idea of parting with it. Ithad such coaxing ways, and was so weak and helpless, that it seemed toneed her more than the others, and to want her help and affection. 

She went to pay a last visit to the kittens before she went to bed thatnight, and found them all curled up in a soft little heap in theirbasket. As usual, the grey kitten was lying underneath the others, whowere sprawling over it, quite regardless of its comfort. 

Maisie lifted it out, held it up to her face, and kissed it gently. 

"Dear little kitty, " she whispered, "you've got a home at last. You'reto go and catch mice for old Sally's Eliza, and I do hope you'll behappy. "

CHAPTER FOUR. 

PHILIPPA'S BIRTHDAY. 

The three kittens were just a month old on the last day of March, andthis was also Philippa Trevor's birthday. She would have liked herbirthday to be in the summer, because an out-of-doors party was so muchnicer than an indoors one, but even Philippa could not arrangeeverything in the world as she wished. So she was obliged to put upwith a birthday which came in the spring, when there were very fewleaves on the trees, and the grass was generally too wet to walk on, andthe sky often cold and grey. Philippa had found that she could get mostthings by crying for them, but still there remained some quite beyondher reach, and unmoved by her tears, and it was just these that she mostwanted and wailed for when she was in a perverse mood. These were timesof discomfort throughout the house, and of great distress to her motherand Miss Mervyn, for with the best will in the world they could not makethe rain stop nor the sun shine, nor time go quicker. Yet, if Philippacried herself ill, as she often did for some such unreasonable whim, itwas so very bad for her. 

"We must keep the child cheerful, my dear madam, " Dr Smith had said toMrs Trevor. "The nerves are delicate. She must be amused withoutexcitement, and never allowed to work herself into a passion, or to beviolently distressed about anything. It will be well to yield to her, if possible, rather than to thwart her. "

But though he said "we, " the doctor went away, and it was those wholived with Philippa who had to carry out this difficult task. The lastpart of it was easy, only it did not seem to produce the desired result. Philippa was yielded to in everything, but instead of being cheerfuland contented, she became more fretful and dissatisfied, had lessself-control than ever, and flew into passions about the very smallesttrifles. This was the case on the morning of her birthday, when therewere two things which seriously displeased her. One was the weather, for, instead of being fine and sunshiny, it rained so hard that itseemed doubtful whether her little friends would come to the party. Theother was, that the musical box which her mother had promised her, andwhich was to play twelve tunes, did not arrive as early as she expected. 

"It's all as horrid as it can be, " she said sulkily when Miss Mervyntried to comfort her. "I don't care a bit for the other presents if themusical box doesn't come. --And it's raining harder than ever. Everything's horrid. "

"It will clear up very likely by the afternoon, " said Miss Mervyn. 

"But if it does, " whined Philippa, "and if they all come, I shan't havemy musical box to show them. "

"Perhaps it will come before then, " said Miss Mervyn patiently, and atthat minute a small covered hamper was brought into the room. 

"A parcel from Fieldside for Miss Philippa, " said the servant. 

"Then it's _not_ the musical box, " said Philippa, who had looked up withrenewed hope. 

"I wonder what it can be, " said Miss Mervyn. "Something alive, I think. Come, Philippa, let us open it. "

She cut the cord as she spoke, and Philippa advanced languidly to thetable to see what the hamper contained. When the lid was lifted, however, her expression changed to one of interest and surprise, forthere, on a bed of straw, its fur beautifully clean, and a blue ribbonround its neck, lay the white kitten. It yawned as the light fell onit, and looking up at the strange faces, uttered a tiny mew. 

"What is that card on its neck?" said Miss Mervyn. 

"`From Maisie and Dennis, with love and good wishes, '" read Philippa, ina pleased and excited voice. For the moment the musical box had quitegone out of her head. 

"I like it best of all the presents I've had yet, " she said, and justthen Mrs Trevor came into the room. 

"Look, mother!" she exclaimed. 

Seizing the kitten, she rushed forward and held it up to Mrs Trevor, whose gown was trimmed with an elegant ruffle of lace down the front; inthis the kitten's sharp little claws at once entangled themselves. 

"Ah, my lace!" she cried. "Take care, my love; it will scratch you. --Miss Mervyn, pray remove the creature. --Yes, very pretty, my darling. Who sent it to you?"

"Dennis and Maisie, " said Philippa, squeezing the kitten under her arm. "May I have it to sleep on my bed?"

"Ah no, dear, " said Mrs Trevor absently, examining her torn lace with aslight frown; "that's not the proper place for kittens. Dear me, whatsharp claws the little thing has, to be sure! I must let Briggs mendthis at once. "

She went out of the room, leaving the question to be further arguedbetween Miss Mervyn and Philippa. 

"I'm sure Dennis and Maisie don't have kittens to sleep with them, " saidthe former. 

"Then you're just wrong, " said Philippa triumphantly, "because Dennis'sdog Peter always sleeps in his room, and that's just the same. "

The white kitten had now struggled out of her clutches, and waswandering sadly round the room in search of its old friends andrelations. It seemed likely to make one more subject for dispute atHaughton Park, where from the time Philippa got up till she went to bed, there was already no end to the wrangling. Confused by finding itselfin a strange land where nothing familiar met its eye, it at last tookrefuge under a book-case, and when Philippa looked round, it was nowhereto be seen. 

"Oh, my darling little kitten is lost!" she exclaimed. 

Miss Mervyn, who did not like cats or any other animals, would not havebeen sorry if this had been the case, but Philippa was preparing to sheda torrent of tears, and this must be avoided at any cost. 

"Hush, my dear, " she said, folding her gown closely round her; "we willfind it. It cannot have gone far. "

Cats, in Miss Mervyn's experience, were shy treacherous things whichalways hid themselves, and jumped out from unexpected places. So shenow proceeded cautiously round the room, peeping into dark corners andbehind curtains, as if some dangerous animal were lurking there. Therewas no place too small or too unlikely that she did not thoroughlyexamine, but it was Philippa who at last caught sight of a pair of greeneyes gleaming in the darkness under the book-case. 

"There it is!" she cried, and casting herself flat on the floor, shestretched out her arm and dragged it out by one leg. But she did nothold it long, for the white kitten, frightened, and quite unused to suchrough treatment, put out its sharp little claws to defend itself. 

"Oh!" screamed Philippa at the top of her voice. She flung the kittenfrom her, and stretched out her arm piteously; on it there was a longscratch, just beginning to bleed a little. 

"The nasty, spiteful thing!" exclaimed Miss Mervyn. "My darlingPhilippa! what will your mother say? Come, my love, we will bathe it, and it will soon be better, and the savage little kitten shall be sentaway. "

But Philippa would not have her arm bathed, and the kitten should not besent away. She would show Dennis and Maisie what a bad scratch it was, and what a cross kitten they had sent her for a present, and meantimeshe would stand and sob. 

"We'll ask them to take it back to Fieldside, won't we?" said MissMervyn soothingly; "we shall be glad to get rid of it. "

The more Miss Mervyn suggested this, the more determined Philippa was tokeep it. She even began to make excuses for it between her sobs. Itdid not mean to scratch; it was a dear little kitten. She was very fondof it. It should not be sent away. It should stay and sleep on herbed. 

At last she submitted to have her arm bathed, and discovered that it wasnot such a very bad scratch after all, and soon the arrival of themusical box gave her something else to think of. For the time the whitekitten was forgotten, and it took the opportunity of crawling behind thecurtains, where it curled itself up and went to sleep. 

But though the musical box had come, the rain still continued to fall, and as there was no possibility of going out, it was settled thatPhilippa should play with her friends in the long gallery. 

The long gallery was a very delightful place to amuse one's self in on arainy day. It was the only old part of Haughton which remained, and itwas much prettier than the new. Six tall latticed windows stood inrecesses all down one side, and facing them were dark old portraits ofstraight-nosed ladies with powdered hair, and gentlemen in wigs. Thesehad the gallery all to themselves, for there were no furniture orornaments in it, except some great china vases in the window-seats. Ateither end there was a high stone mantelpiece, carved all over in quaintpatterns. The ceiling was oak, and so was the floor--this last veryslippery, so that it was as good as ice to slide upon. 

Dennis and Maisie were glad to hear that they were to go into the longgallery when they arrived, and they found all Philippa's visitorsassembled there, with the musical box tinkling out its tunes in one ofthe window-seats. Miss Mervyn, who felt the long gallery very cold anddraughty, was there too; she had brought in a chair from the play-room, and sat shivering by the huge fireplace, where a fire had been lighted;but the children, warmed with their games, looked merry and gay. 

"Let's have a dance!" exclaimed Philippa, as the musical box began alively waltz tune; "Dennis shall be my partner. "

All the little figures in their bright dresses went whirling down thelong shining floor, two and two, skirts fluttering and hair streamingout with the rapid movement. At the end of the long gallery the musicalbox was quite invisible, and its little thin voice could hardly beheard. 

"It's like a fairy tune being played up in the air, " said Maisie. 

The musical box finished its waltz, and almost immediately struck up asolemn march. 

"Now we're soldiers, " said Dennis, "marching to the funeral of one ofour comrades killed in battle. I'm captain. "

All the games suggested by the musical box were successful: evenPhilippa was pleased and happy, and Miss Mervyn began to think that theparty might pass off without any quarrels or disturbance. But, unfortunately, Philippa at last had an idea which led to the overthrowof this pleasant state of things. This idea was that they should joinin with the musical box when it played the "Bluebells of Scotland, " andhave a concert. She herself would conduct, and play the violin. Onechild could sing the tune, another could whistle it, another could playit on a comb, another was provided with a small drum. Every one thoughtit a beautiful idea, and Philippa, very much excited, mounted on thewindow-seat by the musical box, violin in hand, with her band disposedround her. 

But alas! Instead of the sweet sounds she hoped to hear, the mostterrible discords arose at the first tinkling notes of the musical box. It was wonderful that such a small band could produce such a greatnoise, but perhaps this was because each child wanted to be heard abovethe rest. The whistling, screaming, squeaking, and banging, all indifferent keys and different time, quite overpowered the gentleplaintive notes of the violin and the correct melody of the musical box. Miss Mervyn at the end of the room covered her ears, and Philippadropped her bow, and exclaimed angrily: "Stop! it's a horrid noise. "

That was easily said, but no one paid any attention to it. The bandwent on screaming, banging, tootling, and whistling harder than ever. 

"Stop, I say!" cried Philippa again, stamping her foot. "I'm theconductor. I say stop!"

But it had no result. She threw down her violin, and shook the musicalbox angrily, but there was no way of stopping that either: it wentsteadily on, regardless that she was beside herself with rage. Inanother moment she would have dashed it on the floor; but, fortunately, just at that instant Mrs Trevor appeared at the door. The sight of herhad more effect than all Philippa's rage. The band suddenly stopped, the din ceased, peace was restored. Miss Mervyn took her hands from herears, and advanced from the other end of the room. Philippa flew to hermother, and hid her face in her gown. 

"What is it, my darling?" said Mrs Trevor, looking fondly at herdaughter, and severely at Miss Mervyn. "Why have you been making thisdreadful noise?"

Philippa poured forth her complaints. She had wanted to have aconcert--a proper concert--and they had done it all wrong, and theywouldn't stop when she told them, and--

"Poor darling, " said Mrs Trevor, stroking Philippa's hair caressingly, "she has such a sensitive ear. --It was hardly wise, I think, MissMervyn, " turning to that lady, "to allow such a noise. Really, when Iopened the door, it was quite like a number of cats quarrelling. Quiteenough to give Philippa one of her bad headaches for the rest of theday. "

Miss Mervyn looked as if that were likely to be her own case, but sheonly murmured that she had thought Philippa was enjoying herself, andthat she had not liked to put a stop to the children's amusements. Theband meanwhile stood disconsolate. Philippa's face had its fretfullook, and everything was rather uncomfortable. Mrs Trevor glanced roundin despair, and it was at this moment that Maisie gave things a welcometurn by stealing up to her cousin's side, and saying softly, "Where'sthe white kitten?"

The kitten had been on her mind ever since she arrived: she had not seenit, and did not even know that it had been received, for in theexcitement of her party Philippa had quite forgotten to thank hercousins for their present. 

"Ah!" said Mrs Trevor, in a tone of relief, "the kitten, to be sure. --Take Maisie to find the kitten, my darling, and have a quiet little gametogether in the schoolroom. I daresay Dennis will like to stay here, and play with the others until tea-time. "

For a wonder, Philippa was quite ready to do what was proposed, and thetwo little girls went away together. 

"Did you like it?" asked Maisie anxiously. "It's pretty, isn't it? Andit keeps itself very white. It's the prettiest of all the kittens--nextto ours. "

"I like it very much, " said Philippa graciously, "but it scratches. Miss Mervyn says it's a savage kitten. "

"They all scratch, you know, " said Maisie seriously, as they entered theschoolroom; "when they're quite little, they don't know better. You'llhave to teach it to be good. "

"How?" asked Philippa, looking round the room for the kitten, which wasnowhere to be seen. 

"Entirely by kindness, " said Maisie, using an expression she had seen inone of her books. 

"It's hidden itself again, " said Philippa discontentedly; "it's alwayshiding itself. "

This time the kitten had found a good hiding-place, and the little girlssearched everywhere in vain for a long while. At last Maisie thought oflifting the silk cover on the top of Miss Mervyn's work-basket, andthere, snugly coiled in the midst of wools, knitting, and fancy work, lay the white kitten fast asleep! This was not the worst, for it hadevidently amused itself first by a game of play. All the skeins of woolwere twisted up in a tangle, and a quantity of silk was wound tightlyround its claws. 

"There!" said Philippa, "that's the third wrong thing it's done to-day!It's torn mother's lace, and scratched my arm, and tangled up all MissMervyn's wool. Now she'll want it to go away more than ever. "

Maisie looked at the white kitten with dismay. It did not seem to havemade a good beginning in its new home. 

"Will Miss Mervyn be _very_ angry?" she said. "Can't we try to put thewool straight?"

"Oh, _that_ doesn't matter, " said Philippa coolly; "but it _is_ anaughty kitten, isn't it?"

Maisie lifted the kitten carefully out of its warm bed, and gentlydisentangled its claws from the silk. 

"Well, " she said, "I don't really believe it _meant_ to be naughty. Kittens always like to play, and then, you see, it always slept in abasket, so perhaps it thought this was its own. You must give it a ballor a cork, and then it won't want to play with the wrong things. "

Philippa generally looked down upon Maisie and thought her babyish, butshe had such motherly ways with the kitten, and gave advice with so muchgravity, that she now listened with respect to what she said. 

"Now you take it and nurse it a little, " she continued, putting thekitten, still half asleep, into Philippa's arms, "and I'll try to getthe wool straight. What shall you call it? We call ours `Darkie, 'because he's all black, you see. Dennis wanted to call him `Nigger, 'but I didn't like that, and Aunt Katharine says Darkie means just thesame. "

Philippa thought of a good many names, but was not satisfied with any ofthem, and still less with those suggested by Maisie. 

"_I_ know, " she exclaimed at last; "I've got a beautiful name that justsuits it. I shall call it `Blanche. ' That's French for white, youknow, " she added for Maisie's instruction. Maisie did not know, for shehad not begun to learn French, but she quite agreed that Blanche was alovely name, and seemed made for the white kitten. 

After much patient effort she succeeded in untwisting Miss Mervyn's woolfrom most of the knots and tangles, and putting the contents of thebasket into something like order. 

"There!" she said; "that's as straight as I can make it. "

"I don't see why you took so much trouble over it, " said Philippa; "itwasn't your fault--it was the kitten's. "

"Well, the kitten couldn't put it straight, " replied Maisie. "It wasn'thalf so mischievous as Darkie at home, but I expect it feels strangehere just at first. When it gets to know you, it won't be so naughty. "

She looked a little anxiously at the kitten, who was purring contentedlyin Philippa's arms. 

"I hope, " she added, "it will be a nice, well-behaved cat when it growsup. "

"It _ought_ to be the nicest of the three, " said Philippa; "that's verycertain. "

"Why?" asked Maisie. 

"Well, you see, " said Philippa, with her chin in the air, "it will havesuch advantages here. It will sleep on my bed, and have cream for itstea, and it will always wear a lovely ribbon on its neck, or perhaps acollar with a bell. And it will have nothing to do but play, and neverbe with common, low people. "

Maisie looked thoughtful. 

"The grey kitten's very nice and affectionate, " she said, "though itisn't pretty. It won't have advantages though, because it's got to goand do hard work. "

"What hard work?" asked Philippa. 

"It's going to catch mice for old Sally's Eliza, " replied Maisie, "so ofcourse it can't sleep in any one's bed--it will have to be up all night. And I don't suppose it will have meals exactly except what it picks up. And I'm _sure_ it won't wear a collar and a bell, because that wouldfrighten the mice away. "

"Blanche will be better off than that, " said Philippa; "she'll be alady. "

"We shall be able to see, shan't we, " said Maisie, "what sort of catsthey are when they grow up. And then we can settle which is the best--Darkie, or Blanche, or the grey one. "

"What do you mean by the best?" said Philippa. "Do you mean theprettiest?"

"Oh dear, no, " said Maisie. She pondered the question for some minutes, and then added seriously: "I mean the one that's the greatest comfort tothe person it belongs to. "

CHAPTER FIVE. 

THE ROUND ROBIN. 

And now that the white kitten was settled in its new home, the time wascome for the departure of the grey one, and the day fixed when it shouldbe taken to old Sally's cottage. Maisie felt the parting a good deal, for it seemed to her that it was a very small weak thing to be sent outinto the world to earn its living. It would have a very different lifeto Darkie and Blanche. They could dwell at ease, and need never catchmice except for their own pleasure; but the grey kitten had really hardwork before it, and most likely would never be petted again after itleft Fieldside. Maisie wondered whether the old cat, Madam, to whom shecarefully explained everything, was at all worried and anxious about herchildren; but if so, she hid her feelings very well. Certainly shelooked about a little after the white kitten had gone, and mewed once ortwice in an inquiring sort of way, but she did not refuse comfort. Onthe contrary, when Maisie offered her some fish to distract her mindfrom her loss, she gobbled it up rather greedily, and even Darkie couldnot push his round head far into the dish. 

"I expect, " said Maisie, "if Madam could choose, she'd much rather sendDarkie away and keep the grey one; Darkie bothers her so. "

It was just after lesson time, and the children were making preparationsto start with the kitten for old Sally's cottage. Dennis was tying downthe lid of a small hamper, and Maisie stood near, peeping through thecrevices to see whether the kitten was comfortable. 

"There, " said Dennis, as he tied the last knot; "I'm glad it's we thathave got to choose, and not Madam, I wouldn't keep this mean-lookingkitten for anything. Now Darkie will be a splendid cat. "

"Let me carry it, " said Maisie eagerly, and hugging the little basketwith both arms, she followed Dennis rather sorrowfully out of the doorwhich the kitten was not to enter again. 

"I _do_ hope, " she said on the way, "that they'll be kind to it. "

"Oh, of course they will, " said Dennis; "don't you remember old Sallysaid Eliza was quite silly over animals. That meant kind--extra kind. "

Old Sally and her daughter Anne were busy when the children arrived, forthey had a job of work given to them by Mrs Solace, who wanted some oldcushions re-stuffed. On opening these, they had found that feathersinstead of down had been used, and they both had a great deal to say onthe subject. It was, however, almost impossible to talk withoutcoughing and choking, for their cottage was quite full of fluff andfeathers floating about in the air. The children stood in the doorway, and explained their errand as well as they could. 

"They've brought the kitten, mother, " screamed Anne. 

Old Sally had just re-filled a cushion, and was holding it before her atarm's-length. 

"Is it fat enough?" she screamed back at her daughter. 

"It isn't fat at all, " said Maisie, who with Dennis was untying thehamper; "it's a thin little kitten, but it's very good. "

"Dear Miss Maisie, " said Anne, with a chuckling laugh, "it's the cushionmother means, not the cat. "

What with old Sally's deafness, and the increasing thickness of the air, in which the two old figures were dimly seen as through a woolly veil, conversation was really impossible. There were many questions Maisiewould have liked to ask about the kitten's future comfort, but she sawthat they would be useless; so she contented herself with quietly sayinggood-bye to her favourite, and dropping a few secret tears over it. Dennis, however, had made up his mind to know one thing, and he advanceda little way into the cottage, and shouted: "Is Tuvvy at work to-day?"

Anne was seen indistinctly to nod in answer to this. "He's got thesack, though, " she said. "He won't be there not after next week. "

The blow had fallen! Both the children left the cottage in low spirits, and for some time walked along in silence; Maisie grieving for thekitten, and Dennis with his mind full of Tuvvy's disgrace. He had sohoped Mr Solace would not send him away. And now the worst had come, and soon there would be no Tuvvy in the barn. 

They had reached the middle of the rick-yard, and Maisie was casting herusual anxious glances round for the turkey-cock, when Dennis came to asudden stop, and exclaimed:

"I know what I'll do!"

"What?" said Maisie, looking at him inquiringly. She wished he wouldnot stand still just there, but he spoke in such a determined mannerthat she knew it must be something important; so she stood still too, and waited for him to speak. 

"I shall go and ask Mr Solace to let Tuvvy stop, " he said. 

Maisie's look changed to one of admiration, and almost of awe. "Shallyou, really?" she said softly. "Do you think he will?"

"I don't know, " replied Dennis, beginning to walk on very quickly, "butI shall try to make him. "

"But, " said Maisie, after a minute's thought, "wouldn't it be best toask Tuvvy first to leave off having bouts?"

Although she was a girl, and younger than himself, Dennis was quiteready to acknowledge that Maisie had very sensible ideas sometimes. Henow stopped again, and stared at her. It would certainly be better toget Tuvvy's promise first, but he felt he must carry out the interviewalone. 

"Well, " he said slowly, "if I do, where will you wait? I couldn't do itwith you listening. Will you go back to old Sally's?"

But that, Maisie, remembering the fluff, quite refused to do. She wouldgo and see Mrs Solace, she said, and this being settled, she wenttowards the house, and Dennis turned to the barn where Tuvvy worked. 

As he entered, and saw the familiar thin figure bending over thecarpenter's bench, he felt excited and nervous. How should he begin?As a rule, he did not talk much during these visits, and that made itmore difficult now. He took his usual seat on a chopping-block near, and Tuvvy, after giving him one rapid sidelong glance, continued hiswork without speaking. He was making a ladder, and just now wasarranging a heap of smoothly-turned rungs in neat rows. Dennis thoughthe had a rather shamefaced air, like the dog Peter when he knew he haddone wrong. It was of no use to wait for him to make a remark, so hesaid carelessly:

"Is that going to be a long ladder?"

"Pretty tol'rable, master, " answered Tuvvy, his long lean fingers movingnimbly amongst the pieces of wood. 

"Shall you finish it in a week?" was Dennis's next question. 

Tuvvy's dark eyes flashed round at him for a second, but he onlyanswered, "Pretty nigh. "

Dennis was silent for a little while. Then he gathered his courage fora great effort, for he felt that it was of no use to beat about the bushany longer. 

"Mr Tuvvy, " he said, "I'm so sorry you're going away. "

"Thank ye, master, " said Tuvvy; "so be I. "

"Why do you?" asked Dennis. 

"'Cause the gaffer sacked me, " answered Tuvvy. 

"But, " said Dennis, his courage rising, now that he had got into thethick of it, "he wouldn't want you to go if he could help it. You're aclever workman, aren't you?"

"Folks say so, " answered Tuvvy modestly. 

"Well, " said Dennis, "I mean to ask him to let you stop. Only you mustpromise me first not to have any more bouts. "

Tuvvy was so taken by surprise, that he stopped working and turned hiswhole face round upon Dennis, who sat, an upright little figure, on thechopping-block, with a flushed and eager face. 

"Thank ye kindly, master, " he said, after a moment's survey; "you meanwell, but 'tain't no use. "

"Why not?" asked Dennis, in a resolute voice. 

"I couldn't keep that there promise, " said Tuvvy, "not if I was to makeit. There's times when I can't get past the Cross Keys; I'm drawed intoit. "

"Why do you pass it, then?" asked Dennis. 

"I don't pass it, master, worse luck. I go in. "

"But I mean, " said Dennis, getting still redder in the face with theeffort to explain himself, "why do you go by the Cross Keys at all?"

"Well, I have to, " said Tuvvy, "twice in the day. Once of a morning andonce of a evening. I live at Upwell, you see, master. "

Dennis had never known or cared where Tuvvy lived, and indeed it hardlyseemed natural to think of him in any other place than at work in thebarn. It was odd to think he had a home in Upwell. 

"Then, " he said thoughtfully, "you have to walk more than two miles eachway. "

"All that, " said Tuvvy--"more like three. "

He bent over his work, and Dennis sat silent and rather despondent, withhis eyes fixed on the ground. There was so little chance for Tuvvy, ifhe really could not pass the Cross Keys without being "drawed in. "There seemed nothing more to say. Presently, however, Tuvvy himselfcontinued the conversation. 

"Night's the worst, " he said, "and winter worse nor any. It's mortalcold working here all day, and a man's spirit's pretty nigh freezed outof him by the time work's done. And then there's the tramp home, andlong before I get to the village, I see the light behind the red blindat the Cross Keys. It streams out into the road, and it says: `Tuvvy, 'it says, `it's warm in here, and you're cold. There's light in here, and a bit of talk, and a newspaper; and outside it's all dark andlonesome, and a good long stretch to Upwell. Come in, and have a dropto cheer you up. You don't need to stop more'n five minutes. ' Andthen--"

Tuvvy stopped, raised his black eyebrows, and shook his head. 

"Well?" said Dennis. 

"Well, master, " repeated Tuvvy, "then I go in. "

"And do you come out in five minutes?" asked Dennis. 

Tuvvy shook his head again: "It's the red blind as draws me in, " hesaid, "and once I'm in, I stay there. "

"Mr Tuvvy, " said Dennis, after a pause, with renewed hope in his voice, "I've thought of something. Why don't you go home across the fields?You wouldn't have to pass the Cross Keys then, you see, and wouldn't seethe red blind, and it couldn't draw you in. "

"There ain't no way out into the road, " objected Tuvvy. 

"There _is_, " said Dennis; "I've often been. You'd have to cross overpart of one of Aunt Katharine's fields, and then there's a stile intothe Upwell road. It's as straight as anything. "

"Happen Miss Chester mightn't like to see me tramping over her field, "said Tuvvy. 

"She won't mind a bit. Besides, I'll ask her to let you. So that's allright, " said Dennis jumping up, "and I shall go and speak to Mr Solaceat once. "

He was nearly out of the barn when Tuvvy's voice checked him. 

"Hold hard, master, " it said; "I ain't given that there promise you wastalking on. "

"But you will, " said Dennis, coming close up to the carpenter's bench, and looking earnestly up into Tuvvy's dark face; "of course you will--won't you?"

Tuvvy made no answer for a moment. He seemed puzzled to account for allthis interest on Dennis's part, but at length he held out a hand almostblack from hard work, and said:

"Well master, here's my hand on it. I'll do my best. "

Dennis put his own into it seriously. 

"That's a bargain, Mr Tuvvy, " he said. "People always shake hands onbargains. And now it will be all right. "

Tuvvy raised his eyebrows doubtfully. 

"Whether it is or whether 'tain't, " he said, "you meant it kind, and Itake it kind, master. "

Dennis himself had no doubts at all as he ran across the rick-yard tothe farmhouse. Mr Solace was so good-natured, he was always ready to dowhat he was asked, and Dennis knew quite well that he and Maisie werefavourites. He felt still more anxious now that Tuvvy should not besent away, for since this talk with him, he seemed to have taken hisaffairs under his protection. Tuvvy seemed to belong to him, and todepend on him for help and advice, and Dennis was determined to do hisvery best for him. So it was with a feeling of great importance that heentered the housekeeper's room, where he was told that he should findMrs Solace and his sister. They were both there, and both very busy, for Mrs Solace was making meat-pies, and Maisie, covered from head tofoot with a big white apron, was learning how to roll out paste. 

"Did you want to see Andrew _particularly_, my dear?" asked Mrs Solace. "Fact is, he's in the office, over his accounts, and don't want to bedisturbed. If it's a message from Miss Chester, you could leave it withme, couldn't you? and I'll be sure he has it. "

"It isn't a message from Aunt Katharine, " said Dennis. "It's somethingI _must_ say myself; something very important, indeed. Maisie knows itis, " he added, as Mrs Solace still hesitated. 

She looked at the children with some perplexity in her good-humouredface. She did not want to disturb Andrew just now, whose temper wasseldom ruffled except when he was at his accounts. On the other hand, Dennis and Maisie were both fixing such imploring eyes upon her that shecould not bear to say "No. "

"Well, then, " she said, "you must just go and knock at the door and askif you may go in. But _don't_ ye stay long, my dear, else Andrew'll bevexed, and it's I who'll bear the blame. "

The office, where Mr Solace had retired to struggle with his accounts, was not a very business-like apartment. It was a small room with a dooropening into the stable-yard, full of a great variety of articles, suchas boots, whips, guns, walking-sticks, and pipes. In the window therewas a big writing-table, covered with account-books and papers, and itwas here that the farm men came to be paid on Saturday night. From hisseat Mr Solace could see all that went on in the stable-yard, and couldshout out orders to the men as they passed across it without leaving hischair. That was in summer, but now the window was shut and the room wasquite full of the fumes of Mr Solace's pipe, from which he was puffingangry clouds of tobacco, as he frowned over a great leather-bound bookin front of him. 

He was a man of about fifty, with iron-grey hair and very blue eyeswhich looked keenly out under bushy brows. They were kindly eyes, butthey were eyes which could fix themselves commandingly on man or beast, and seemed used to having their commands obeyed. They were set in aface so bronzed and reddened by an outdoor life, that this colour wasall the more striking, except to old Sally, who spoke lightly of themcompared to others she "minded" in the family. "They weren't nothing atall to what old Mr Solace's was, " she said. "They _were_ blue, if youlike. "

Biting the top of his quill pen, and stamping his foot, when the figureswere too much for his patience, the farmer had just travelled nearly upa long column, when a loud knock was heard at his door. 

At first he only grunted impatiently, for he knew that if he let go hiscalculation for an instant, he was a lost man, and would have to add itall up again. But almost immediately the knock was loudly repeated. 

"Come in, " he shouted, flinging down his pen and turning angrily towardsthe door. His gaze was directed to the height of a full-grown person, and he lowered it hastily to the level of Dennis's small round head, andsaid in a softer tone: "Oh, it's you, is it, my boy. "

Dennis marched straight in at once, and stood at the farmer's elbow. Hewas not a bit afraid of Mr Solace, and had prepared just what he meantto say, so he began without a pause. 

"I've come to ask you a favour, please. "

"And I wish you'd come at any other time, " said Mr Solacegood-naturedly; "but as you're here, out with it. "

Dennis's favours were usually connected with jackdaws, or rabbits, orpuppies, and no doubt this would be something of the same kind. 

"It's a bigger one than ever I've asked before, " continued Dennis, "andI want it more than anything I've wanted before. "

"Fire away!" said the farmer; "only make haste about it, because I'mbusy. "

"I want you, " said Dennis, speaking slowly and solemnly, as he drew upcloser, "to let Tuvvy stop. "

The farmer's face changed. He gave a long low whistle. 

"Did he send you to ask me that?" he said. 

"No indeed, " replied Dennis indignantly; "I thought of it my very ownself. He's promised not to have any more bouts, if you'll keep him on. "

Mr Solace got up and stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, lookingdown at Dennis. 

"Well, my boy, " he said, "that's a thing I must say `No' to. I'm forcedto, by Tuvvy himself. I don't want to send him away. I shan't getanother such a clever chap in his place. "

"Then why do you?" asked Dennis. 

"Because I can't put up with him any longer; I've been too soft-heartedalready. I've winked at his goings-on again and again, and I've let himoff times out of number. But now my mind's made up. "

"But he's _promised_, " urged Dennis, "and he's going to walk home thefield-way, so as not to pass the Cross Keys. He says it's the red blindthat draws him in. "

"H'm, " said the farmer, with a short laugh. "He don't want much_drawing_, I fancy. And as for his promises--I've had enough of Tuvvy'spromises. "

Dennis looked crestfallen. He had not expected this. 

"Won't you try him just this _once_ more?" he pleaded. 

"Now, look here, Master Dennis, " said the farmer; "you know most of mymen. They don't call me a hard master, do they?"

"No, " replied Dennis; "they say the gaffer's very kind. "

"Well, but there's another thing I've got to think of besides kindness, and that's justice. It isn't fair, you see, to the other men to letTuvvy off. Why, if I did, I shouldn't have a steady workman about theplace soon, and serve me right. They'd say: `There's that chap Tuvvycan do as he likes, and drink and leave his master in the lurch, and yethe's no worse off. Why shouldn't we do the same? What's the good ofbeing sober and steady, and sticking to our work, if we don't getanything by it?'"

"But I'm sure, " said Dennis eagerly, "they'd all like Tuvvy to stop. "

"That's the worst of it, " said Mr Solace, with an annoyed jerk of hishead. "I should like him to stop too. He's such a clever rascal withhis head as well as his hands. A hint does for him, where another manwants telling all the ins and outs of a thing, and doesn't get it rightin the end. Tuvvy's got a head on his shoulders, and turns out his workjust as it ought to be. It's a pleasure to see it. But then, perhapsjust at a busy time when we're wanting some job he's at, he'll break outand have a regular fit of drinking for the best part of a week, andleave us all in the lurch. It's no use. I can't and won't put up withit, and I oughtn't to. "

The farmer spoke as though arguing with his own weakness rather thanwith Dennis, who now ventured to ask: "If all the others wanted him tostay, would you let him?"

"I'll have nothing to do with asking them, " said the farmer, spreadingout his hands. "I'll have nothing more to do with Tuvvy at all. I'vegiven him up. Now you run away, my boy, and let me get to my business. "

Dennis stood for a minute, half uncertain whether he should put somemore questions; but Mr Solace sat down to his desk, and grasped his penwith such determination, that he did not dare to make another attempt, and unwillingly left the office. 

He did not, however, entirely give up hope. Dennis was a stubbornlittle boy, and when he had fixed his mind upon a thing, he did not soonleave off trying to get it. Could Aunt Katharine help him, he wondered, as he and Maisie ran home together. At any rate he would tell her allabout it, and ask for her advice. But when she had heard the story, Aunt Katharine did not seem to have much advice to give. 

"I don't think you must worry Mr Solace any more, Dennis, " she said. "He knows best how to manage his own affairs and his own men. A littleboy like you can't understand such things. If the wheelwright behavesbadly, of course he must lose his place. "

"But, " persisted Dennis, "Mr Solace really does want to keep him, Iknow, only he says it isn't fair to the other men. "

"Well, you'd better get them to sign a Round Robin, then, " said MissChester, laughing; "_I_ can't interfere. "

She was hurrying away, as though there were no more to be said on thesubject, but Dennis followed her. 

"Oh Aunt Katharine, " he said earnestly, taking hold of her dress, "_do_wait a minute, and tell me what you mean by a Round Robin. "

Aunt Katharine was always willing to make things clear to the childrenif she could, and she now sat down patiently to explain to Dennis what aRound Robin was. When he quite understood, he ran quickly in search ofMaisie that he might describe it to her before he forgot a word, and gether to help him in preparing one. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

LOST!

"There!" said Dennis triumphantly, "we've got it right at last. "

"There's only one tiny smudge on it, " said Maisie, looking anxiouslyover his shoulder at the Round Robin. 

It had cost them nearly two days of earnest effort and repeated failure, for although Aunt Katharine had described exactly how it was to be done, she had left them to carry it out entirely by themselves. It sounded soeasy to say: "Take a sheet of cardboard, and draw a large circle on it, leaving room for all the signatures you want. Then write the petitionclearly in the middle, and that is a Round Robin. " But it was not soeasy when you began to do it. First the circle was too large, and thenit was too small, then there were mistakes in the spelling, and thenthere were too many blots; but at last, after wasting four sheets ofcardboard, the Round Robin approached perfection. Aunt Katharine camein to see it, and smiled, and said she thought it would do. 

"But you've got a good deal before you yet, Dennis, " she added. "Do youthink you shall be able to get all the men to sign?"

"Every one of them, " said Dennis decidedly. "I shall begin with thebailiff, and end with the pig-man. He can't write his name, but he canput a cross. "

"It won't matter which you begin or end with, " said Maisie, "becausethere isn't any first and last in the Round Robin. "

From this moment all Dennis's energy and interest were spent upongetting the Round Robin signed. He could talk and think of nothingelse, but though Maisie was eager for its success too, it did notentirely take her mind from other things. She often thought, forinstance, of the two kittens in their new homes, and wondered how theywere getting on, and whether Blanche was beginning to be a "comfort" toPhilippa. Darkie was certainly growing handsome and more amusing everyday, but perhaps he could not exactly be considered a "comfort. " Madam, his mother, at any rate did not find him one, and was often very vexedwith him, because he would not give up the pranks and follies ofchildhood. She could no longer put up with it patiently, when hepounced upon her tail if she happened to whisk it, or played leap-frogover her back like a small black goblin. On such occasions she wouldspit at him angrily, and box his ears with the whole strength of heroutstretched arm, but Darkie did not care a bit. He must play with someone, and as Peter the dog would not notice him, there was no one leftbut Madam. Dennis and Maisie were quite ready to have a game, but theywere not to be compared to cats for fun and frolic, and besides, theybegan to have some tiresome ideas about training and education. Darkiemust be taught to beg like Peter. Every morning, before he was allowedto taste his breakfast, he was made to go through certain exercises. 

"Beg, Darkie, beg, " Maisie would say, holding the plate high above hishead; and then Dennis would place him forcibly down on his hind-legs, and lift up his front paws. Darkie was a cunning cat, and he soon foundthat begging was to his advantage, so he learned his lesson quickly, butit was only one of many which followed, and he got very tired of them. 

"Darkie can beg, " said Maisie, when she next saw Philippa. "How doesBlanche get on?"

Philippa had driven over to Fieldside with her mother one brightafternoon in April, and now she and Maisie were in the garden, Dennis asusual being absent on business connected with the Round Robin. Maisiehad been very pleased to see Philippa when she first arrived, for shewanted to hear about the white kitten, and she looked forward to apleasant talk with her. Before she had been there five minutes, however, it was easy to see that she was not in a nice mood. That wasthe worst of Philippa, Maisie always found. You could never take her upjust at the point you left her; she might be agreeable, and she might bejust the opposite. To-day she had her grown-up manner, and was full oflittle affected airs and graces, and Maisie, glancing at her once ortwice, saw the reason of it. Philippa was wearing a new hat of thelatest fashion, covered with the most beautiful drooping feathers, andshe could not forget it for a moment. 

"If I can find Darkie, " repeated Maisie, "you should see him beg. Hedoes it most beautifully. "

"Fancy!" said Philippa, with a slight drawl and a little laugh. "Well, Blanche doesn't need to _beg_ for anything. She gets all she wantswithout that. --Where's Dennis?"

Maisie repeated the story of Tuvvy and the Round Robin, and Philippalaughed again. 

"What odd things you do, " she said. "Mother says you're not a bit likeother people. "

Maisie had been searching in vain for Darkie in all his usual haunts, and calling him at intervals, but no kitten appeared; there was only oldMadam curled up in the sun, blinking in lazy comfort. 

"I'm afraid I shan't find him, " she said, with a disappointed face. "He's such a cunning cat. He knows we want to teach him things, so heoften hides. Very likely he's watching us now, somewhere quite near. But I did so want you to see him beg. "

"Why do you teach him things?" asked Philippa, "It must be a greattrouble to you, and he doesn't like it either. "

"Oh, but it's good for him to learn, " said Maisie. "It makes himobedient and well-behaved. --Don't you teach Blanche anything?"

"Oh dear, no, " said Philippa. "She would scratch me if I tried, directly. "

Maisie looked grave. "Do you think Blanche is growing a nice cat?" sheasked presently. 

Philippa tossed her head, and made all the feathers on her hat wave. 

"She ought to be, " she said, "for she has all sorts of advantages. She's got bells, and ribbons, and a clockwork mouse, but she hasn't avery nice disposition. She often scratches. Miss Mervyn's quite afraidof her, and mother would send her away at once if she wasn't mine. "

Maisie sighed. "I'm sorry, " she said, but in her own mind she felt surethat the white kitten was not properly managed. 

"I wonder, " she added aloud, "how the grey kitten will turn out. AuntKatharine's going in to Upwell to-morrow, and she's promised to call atthe tinsmith's and ask after it. "

Philippa yawned, and did not seem to feel much interest in the greykitten. 

"How do you like my hat?" she asked, with a sudden liveliness in hervoice. Before Maisie could answer, Aunt Katharine called the childrenfrom the drawing-room window. Mrs Trevor was going away, and just asthey were seated in the carriage Dennis appeared, rather hot, butglowing with triumph. 

"Half of them have signed, " he said, waving the Round Robin in the airas he approached. Philippa leaned back languidly beside her mother, andgave a little affected wave of the hand to her cousins as she droveaway. 

"What's the matter with Philippa?" asked Dennis. "She's got somethingnew on, I suppose. "

Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to tell all he had done thatafternoon. No one had refused to sign, although some of the men had agood deal to say before they did so, and others looked as though theydid not understand the Round Robin very clearly. 

"But I think it will be all right, " finished Dennis; "and if I get themall, Mr Solace can't refuse to let Tuvvy stop, can he?"

Maisie agreed rather absently, for she was still thinking over her talkwith Philippa. The white kitten's home did not seem to have turned outvery well so far, and she had expected it to be the best. Perhaps thegrey kitten's humble abode would be happier, after all, than HaughtonPark. 

"Madam, " she said, turning to the old cat, who had chosen a sunny spoton the window ledge, and was taking a nap, "I've got some news for you. Aunt Katharine's going to call at the tinsmith's--that's where oldSally's Eliza lives, you know--and ask after your grey kitten. "

"_She_ doesn't care, " said Dennis, laughing contemptuously, but Maisieknew Madam was pleased, for she tucked her front paws under her andpurred. She would no doubt be anxious to hear about her kitten, and thenext afternoon, when the time came to expect Aunt Katharine back fromUpwell, Maisie stood waiting in the hall with the old cat tucked underher arm. Madam should hear the news directly it came. It seemed a longtime in coming, and even when at last Aunt Katharine drove up to thedoor, she had so many parcels to look after, and so much to say aboutthem, that Maisie could not ask any questions. She followed her auntinto the sitting-room, with Madam still clutched tightly to her side. 

"What is it, Maisie dear?" said Miss Chester. "Oh, the kitten, to besure. I went to see it, but I'm sorry to tell you that they're afraidit has run away. "

At this sad news Madam struggled so violently that Maisie was obliged tolet her slip down to the floor. Run away! That was the last thingMaisie had thought of. 

"Oh Aunt Katharine, " she cried, "how did it run away? Why did they letit?"

But there was not much to be told about this. It was supposed that thekitten had run through the shop out into the street, and lost its way. At any rate, it had disappeared, and the tinsmith's wife was very sorry. 

"Then, " said Maisie, "it's lost! She might have taken more care of it. I wish we hadn't given it to her!"

Poor little grey kitten! Homeless and helpless in the wide world! Itwas so sad to think of it, that Maisie could not help crying, in spiteof Aunt Katharine's attempts to comfort her. 

"After all, " she sobbed out, "it hasn't got a home at all, and we didtake such trouble to find it one. "

"Well, darling, " said her aunt, "we must hope it has got a good homestill. Very likely some kind person found it, and took care of it. "

"Do you really think so?" said Maisie, rubbing her eyes and looking upwith a gleam of hope; "but perhaps, " she added sorrowfully, "an unkindperson met it. "

Aunt Katharine smiled and kissed her little niece. 

"Unfortunately, there are unkind people in the world, dear Maisie, " shesaid; "but I don't think there are many who would hurt a little harmlesskitten. So we must take all the comfort we can, and perhaps some day weshall find it again. "

Maisie did her best to look on the bright side of the misfortune, butshe could not help thinking of all the dangers the grey kitten waslikely to meet. There were so many dogs in Upwell, dogs like Snip andSnap who delighted in chasing cats. There were carts and carriages too, and many things which the kitten was far too young to understand. Itsignorance of the world would lead it into all sorts of perils, and therewas little chance that it would ever be heard of again. She tried tobreak the bad news as gently as possible to Madam, who seemed to listenwith indifference, and presently fell off to sleep, as though there wereno such thing as lost kittens in the world. Dennis also did not showvery much concern; but he was just now so busy with other matters thatperhaps this was not surprising. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

FOUND!

Meanwhile, what had become of the grey kitten? To learn this we must goback to the time when it began its life in the tinsmith's house atUpwell under the care of old Sally's Eliza. It was kept in the kitchenat first, but by degrees, as it got used to the place, it was allowed torun about where it liked, and its favourite room was the little backparlour opening into the shop. Now the shop was forbidden ground, andit was always chased back if it tried to enter: so perhaps it was forthis very reason that it seemed to have fixed its mind on doing it, andone afternoon the chance came. Its mistress was busy behind the counterserving some customers: the parlour door was open; no one noticed thegrey kitten, and it marched boldly in. 

Pleased to find itself in the midst of so many new and shining things, it played about happily for some time, trying to catch the merry shadowyfigures which danced on all the bright surfaces around. It was greatfun at first, to make springs and dashes at them with its soft littlepaws, but finding they were never to be caught, it got tired, and lookedabout for fresh amusement. Unluckily its eye fell on the open doorleading into the busy street, and without a thought of fear it trottedout, and cantered, tail on high, gaily down the pavement. 

Too young to understand that it was in the midst of dangers, it sawnothing to alarm, and much that was amusing in all it passed. Now andthen it stopped on its way to play with a straw, or chase a fly, and bydegrees got a long distance from the tinsmith's shop. It was now latein the afternoon, a drizzling rain had begun to fall, and it was so dulland cold that it was almost like winter. The kitten began to feel wetand miserable. It looked round for shelter and warmth, shook one littledamp paw, and gave a tiny mew. 

"Hulloa!" cried a rough loud voice, "what's this?" A rough hand graspedit, and held it up high above the ground. 

A troop of boys was pouring out from a school-house near, shouting, whistling, calling out to each other, and making the place echo withtheir noise. The one who had seized the kitten was a big stout fellowof about fourteen, with red hair and small greenish eyes. 

"Who wants a cat to make into pies?" he bawled at the top of his voice, holding his prize above the crowd of boys who gathered round him. Thekitten, its little weak body dangling helplessly, turned its terrifiedeyes downwards on all the eager faces. 

"Who'll buy?" cried the boy again. 

"Mi-auw, " said the kitten piteously. 

"Give yer five marbles for it, Bill!"

"Give yer tuppence. "

"Give yer a lump of hardbake. "

One after another the shrill voices sounded above the general noise andclatter, but Bill shook his head. 

"Not near enough, " he said; "and come to think of it, I shall keep itmyself, and have some sport with it. We'll have a cat-chase, sure's myname's Bill. "

As he spoke, another boy joined the group. He was much smaller thanBill, slight and thin, with a brown face and very twinkling dark eyes. His clothes were poor, and there was more than one hole in the raggedjacket buttoned tightly round him. 

"I'll give yer my knife for't, Bill, " he said quickly. 

This was a good offer. Bill hesitated; but casting a glance at theboy's dark eager face, he exclaimed:

"Ah, it's you, is it, Dan Tuvvy; then don't you wish you may get it?I'll just keep it myself. "

"'Tain't yourn, " said Dan shrilly. 

"'Tain't yourn, anyhow, " said Bill, with a glare in his green eyes. 

The small boy's features worked with excitement. "I'll fight yer forit, then, " he said, doubling his fists, and at this there was a loudlaugh from the others, for he was about half Bill's size. 

"Go it, Tuvvy, " cried one, patting him on the back; "go in and win. "

"I ain't a-goin' to fight a little chap like you, " said Bill, moving offsullenly with the kitten under his arm. "So don't you think it. "

"You give me the cat, then, " said Dan, following him. "'Ere's my knife, with three blades, and on'y one broke. "

"Git out with yer, " said Bill contemptuously. "I tell yer I'm a-goin'to have a cat-chase with this 'ere kitten. So no more bother about it. "

"You're afraid, " snarled Dan, running along by his side. "I wouldn't bea big chap like you, and be afraid--that I wouldn't. "

"Take that, then, " said Bill, turning suddenly, "if you _will_ have it;"and he gave the small boy a blow which struck him to the ground. 

In a moment he was up again, quite undaunted. 

"Come on, then, " he cried, doubling his fists and dancing round hisenemy, "if you _aren't_ afraid. "

"A fight! a fight!" sounded from all sides; and there seemed no doubt ofit, for Bill's temper was roused. 

"Ketch 'old for a minnit, " he said, holding out the kitten, for which adozen grimy hands were outstretched; "'twon't take long--"

So all the boys thought. It would be short but exciting, for the twowere old enemies, and likely to fight with spirit. They placedthemselves in a ring, with hoarse shouts of encouragement and approval, and the fight began; the kitten adding its plaintive mew from time totime to the general noise. 

At first it seemed that one blow from Bill's heavy hand would be enoughto finish the affair; but it was soon evident that Dan's lean figure andnimble movements were greatly to his advantage. He sprang about in sucha swift and agile manner, that he seemed everywhere at once; and whileBill was turning to deal a blow, or to catch hold of him, he had duckedhis small black head and escaped. Buttoned tightly in his narrowjacket, which he had not taken off, his straight thin figure offerednothing for the hand to grasp, so that it was like trying to lay hold ofa wriggling, slippery eel. It was certainly a much better fight thancould have been expected from the unequal size of the rivals, and Bill'sface grew a deep red, as much with rage as with his vain efforts toclose with Dan, who skipped round him breathless but full of spirit. Suddenly, however, while the excitement was at its height, there came acry of alarm from the onlookers, "The bobby! the bobby!"

A blue uniform turned the corner. The crowd split up, and vanished likemagic as the policeman came towards them. Bill turned away sulkily, andDan seizing the kitten, which had been dropped on the ground, ran off atthe top of his speed. 

Without turning his head, to see if his enemy was in pursuit, he speddown the street past the school-house, clasping the kitten to hisbreast. Soon he had left the shops and busy part of the town behindhim, and reached the outskirts, where the houses were poor and mean, andthere were ragged people standing about on the door-steps. He gave aquick glance over his shoulder now, and seeing no sign of Bill or thepoliceman, slackened his pace, loosened the tight pressure of his handon the kitten, and stroked it gently. 

"Poor little kit, " he said, "nice little kit. How pleased Becky'll bewith it. "

It was hard to say whether Dan or the kitten was most exhausted by allthey had been through. His fight, his rapid run, and the excitement ofthe whole affair had made him so breathless, that he was glad to leanagainst a lamp-post and pant. As for the grey kitten, it lay almostlifeless on his breast, its eyes closed, its little body quite limp, andits heart beating so faintly that it could hardly be felt. The boylooked down at it with pity. 

"Looks pretty bad, " he murmured; "they've mauled it about so. P'r'aps adrop of milk would set it up. "

Urged by this thought, he made an effort to go on again at a slowerpace, still panting a good deal, and presently reached a row of smallcottages, one of which he entered. A child's voice from a dark cornerof the poorly-furnished kitchen cried, as he opened the door, "Mother, it ain't father; it's Dan;" and a woman, who was bending over a pot onthe fire, turned towards him. 

"Well, " she said fretfully, "what makes _you_ so late? It's bad enoughto have your father coming in at all hours and wanting his supper. "

Dan made no answer, but hurried up to the corner from which the child'svoice had sounded. "See here, Becky, " he said softly; "see what I'vebrought you!"

The child, a girl of about eight years old, raised herself eagerly onthe hard couch on which she was lying. She was very like Dan, with thesame brown skin and dark eyes, but the eyes had no merry twinkle inthem. Her face was thin and drawn, and had the appealing look whichcomes of suffering borne with patience. 

"Is it a rabbit, Dan?" she asked, peering at the soft furry thing in herbrother's arms. 

"It's a little cat, " said Dan, putting the kitten gently down by herside, "as Bill was going to ill-treat. "

Becky touched the kitten with her thin fingers. "Its eyes is shut, " shesaid. "Oh Dan, I'm feared it's dead. "

The woman had now drawn near to look at the kitten too. She had a fairskin and very pale blue eyes, which were always wide open, as though shewere surprised at something; when this expression changed, it became afretful one, which had also got into the tone of her voice. 

"Give us a drop o' milk, mother, " said Dan; "that'll do it good. "

"Milk indeed!" said Mrs Tuvvy; "and what next? Where's the money tocome from to buy milk for cats, when goodness knows if we shall soonhave bit or drop to put into our own mouths?"

Neither of the children took any notice of their mother's remarks, oranswered the questions which she continued to put. 

"How do you suppose we're going to live, now yer father's got turnedoff? Who's a-goin' to pay the doctor's bill, I should like to know?"

Dan rose and fetched from the table a small basin covered with a saucer. 

"That's yer supper, " said Mrs Tuvvy mournfully. "You ain't never goin'to give it to the cat! Well, you won't get no more. "

Dan knelt by the couch, and tried to put a little warm milk into thekitten's mouth with the spoon, but its teeth were firmly shut. 

"You open its mouth, Dan, and I'll feed it, " said Becky eagerly. "There, it swallowed that--now some more. See; it's better already. "

For the kitten had opened its eyes, and given itself a little stretch. Soon it was able to lap some milk out of the saucer, and to eat somecrumbled bread. 

"Ain't it a little dear?" said Becky, her thin face lighted up withpleasure. "Oh Dan, it's purring! It must be quite well, mustn't it?"

"I expect it'll want a good long sleep first, " said Dan, looking gravelyat the kitten, which had curled itself up by Becky's side, and begun afaint little song of thankfulness; "it's been through a deal. "

He took his neglected supper, and sat down to eat it at the foot ofBecky's couch, while Mrs Tuvvy returned to her cooking at the fire, still grumbling half aloud. There was not much bread and milk, and Dan, who always had a good appetite, was unusually hungry after his exertionsthat afternoon. He had been through a deal, as well as the kitten. Butby dint of talking to his sister between each spoonful, he managed toeke out the meal, and make it seem much more. Becky listened with themost eager interest, meanwhile, to all the details of the fight, thepoliceman, and the escape of Dan with the kitten. When there was nomore to tell, and very little more to eat, she leaned back on her couchand sighed. 

"He's a reg'lar bad un, that Bill!" she said presently. "Will he wantto fight again?"

Dan shook his head. "I shan't come across him no more, " he said; "notnow I'm going to a place. "

"I forgot, " said Becky wearily. "Oh Dan, how long the days'll be whenyou don't come home to dinner. Whatever shall I do?"

"Why, " said Dan soothingly, "you won't be alone now. You'll have thekit. "

Becky gave a faint little smile. 

"I mean to get you a good long bit of string, " went on Dan, "and tie acork to the end, and then, you see, you'll bounce it about for the kitto play with, and carry on fine, without moving. "

"I suppose it'll get to know me after a bit, won't it?" said Becky, evidently pleased with Dan's idea. 

"Just about, " answered her brother decidedly. Becky looked down fondlyat the small grey form on her arm. 

"Dr Price's dogs came in with him to-day, " she said, "but they mustn'tcome in no more now. They'd worry it to death. Mother told himto-day, " she added in a lower tone, "as how she couldn't pay his bill, because of father. "

"What did he say?" asked Dan. 

"He said, `That's a bad job, Mrs Tuvvy, but it can't be helped. '"

"Did he say you were getting better?" asked Dan again, scraping hisbasin carefully round with his spoon. 

"He said I wanted plenty of rest, and plenty of nourishing food, " saidBecky. "What's nourishing food, Dan?"

"Nice things, " said Dan, balancing his spoon on the edge of his basin, and smacking his hungry lips; "chickens, and jellies, and pies, and suchlike. "

"Oh, " said Becky, with a patient sigh. "Well, we shan't have no moneyat all now, so we can't get any of 'em. "

"I shall get six shillings a week when I begin work, " said Dan; "andthere's what mother gets charing. But then there's the rent, you see, and father getting nothing--"

He broke off, for the door opened, and Tuvvy himself appeared with hisbasket of tools on his shoulder. The children looked at him silently ashe flung himself into a chair, but his wife began immediately in a toneof mild reproachfulness. 

"Yer supper's been waiting this ever so long, and it wasn't much toboast of to begin with, but there--I s'pose we may be thankful to get abit of dry bread now. "

She poured the contents of the saucepan into a dish, sighing andlamenting over it as she did so. 

"'Tain't what I've been used to, as was always brought up respectable, and have done my duty to the children. And there's the doctor's bill--Is'pose he won't come to see Becky no more till that's paid--and thereshe is on her back a cripple, as you may call it, for life p'r'aps. Andwhat is it you mean to turn to, now you've lost a good place?"

As long as there was a mouthful of his supper left, Tuvvy preserved astrict silence; but when his plate was empty, he pushed it away, andsaid grimly, "Gaffer's goin' to let me stop on. "

"Stop on!" repeated Mrs Tuvvy. She stopped short in her progress acrossthe kitchen, and let the empty plate she was carrying fall helplessly ather side. "Stop on!" she repeated. 

"Ain't I said so?" answered Tuvvy, pressing down the tobacco in his pipewith his thumb. 

Mrs Tuvvy seemed incapable of further speech, and stood gazing at herhusband with her mouth partly open. It was Becky who exclaimed, with afaint colour of excitement in her cheek, "Oh father, what made him?"

"Do tell us, father, " added Dan, touching him gently on the arm. 

Tuvvy looked round at the boy's earnest face, and then down at thetable, and began to draw figures on it with the stem of his pipe. MrsTuvvy hovered a little nearer, and Becky sat upright on her couch, witheagerness in her eyes as her father began to speak. 

"It was along of a little gentleman, Dennis Chester his name is, whoused to come and see me work. He asked the gaffer, and gaffer said`No. ' So then he says, `Will you let him stop, ' says he, `if the othersare agreeable?' and to that the gaffer says neither yes nor no. Butthis morning he sends for me, and `Tuvvy, ' he says, `I've had a RoundRobin about you. ' `And what sort of a bird is that, master?' says I. `'Tain't a bird at all, ' he says, `it's this, ' and then he showed itme. "

"What ever was it?" asked Dan, as his father paused. 

Tuvvy made a large circle in the air with the stem of his pipe. 

"'Twas a round drawed like that on a bit of card, and inside of it waswrote as follers: `We which have signed our names, ask Mr Solace to keepMr Tuvvy in his service. ' All the men's names was round the outside, and the little gentleman's name as well. "

"What did Mr Solace say?" asked Dan. 

"He said, `You ain't deserved it, Tuvvy. '"

"No more yer 'ave, " said Mrs Tuvvy, regaining her speech. 

"But, " continued her husband, "the gaffer went on to say that, along ofMaster Chester, who'd taken such a lot of trouble, he'd give me anotherchance. So that's all about it. "

"And in all my born days, " broke out Mrs Tuvvy, "I never heard ofanything so singuller. Whatever made Master Chester take such a fancyto _you_, I wonder?"

"So I'm to stop on, " continued Tuvvy, putting his pipe in his mouth, andturning his back on his wife. 

"And I hope, " said poor Mrs Tuvvy, beginning to cry a little from therelief of the good news, "I _do_ hope, Benjamin, as it'll be a lesson asyou'll take to 'art, and keep away from the drink; and if ever a man hadreason to keep steady, you 'ave, with Dan growin' up, and Becky'sdoctor's bill to pay, and--" Mrs Tuvvy did not speak angrily, or raiseher voice above a soft complaining drawl; but it seemed to have adisturbing effect upon her husband, who, when she reached this point, sprang up and flung himself towards the door. 

"Look, father, " said Becky's childish voice from her corner. "See herewhat Dan's brought me!"

"Filling the house with cats and dogs and rubbish, " mourned Mrs Tuvvy, joining the remark to her interrupted sentence. 

"We ain't got no dogs, anyhow, mother, " said Dan, as his father turnedfrom the door and went up to Becky's side; "a morsel of a kitten won'teat much. She'll have a bit of my supper till she's older, and thenshe'll catch mice and get her own living. "

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

BECKY. 

"It seems as if it had brought luck, don't it?" said Becky. 

She was lying on her hard little sofa, with her hands clasped behind herhead, and her eyes fixed on the grey kitten, who was playing all sortsof pranks in a spot of sunlight it had found on the floor. There was asmile on her thin face as she watched the little creature's merryantics, and it was indeed wonderful to see how much amusement it wasable to find all by itself. First it chased its own tail round andround so fast, that it made one giddy to look at it; then it pounced atits own shadow, and darted back sideways in pretended fear; then itrolled over on its back, and played with its own furry toes. It was aweek now since Dan had brought it home, forlorn and miserable, and ithad quite forgotten its troubles, and was happy all day long. Even whenthere was not much for dinner--and that did happen sometimes, in spiteof Becky's care--it always purred its little song of thankfulness, andwas ready to be pleased, for it had a meek and grateful nature. 

Dan, who was sitting at the foot of Becky's couch, with his feetstretched out in front of him, as though he were very tired, looked upas his sister spoke. 

"What luck?" he asked sleepily. 

Becky turned her dark eyes upon him. 

"I'm sorry I waked you, " she said. "I meant, because you brought thekit home the same night father wasn't turned off. "

Dan nodded seriously. 

"It's all been better since, " went on Becky. "Father brings his moneyhome, and mother don't worry, and we have dinner every day, and I dothink my back don't go all on aching so bad as it did. "

"If you was to get quite well, it'd be luckier still, " said Dan. 

"P'r'aps I shall, " said Becky wistfully. "I dreamed ever so beautifullast night, that you and me was dancing to the organ in the street--theone as plays `Pop goes the Weasel. ' When I woke, I cried a bit, becauseit wasn't true. Do you think as it'll ever come true?"

"Just about, " said Dan, rousing himself to speak with confidence. 

"If so be as it does, " continued Becky, "it'll be along of what thelittle gentleman at Fieldside did for father. If father hadn't kept hisplace, I couldn't got well, because of paying the doctor and thenourishing things. "

"I think of that a deal too, " said Dan; "it's all owin' to him. "

"If there was ever anything we could do to please him, " said Becky, "wouldn't we be glad! He must be such a very kind little gentleman. "

Dan shook his head decidedly. 

"'Tain't likely, " he said. "He belongs to rich folks, him and hissister. They don't want nought from the like of us. "

"Well, I'm sorry, " said Becky, with a sigh. "I think over it a dealwhen I'm alone, and sort of make plans in my head; but, of course, theyain't real. "

Poor Becky had plenty of opportunity for making plans in her head, forsince a year ago she had been alone nearly all day. Before that she hadbeen as gay and lively as the kitten itself, and as fond of play, butone unlucky day she had fallen down some stone steps and hurt her back. All her games were over now: she must lie quite still, Dr Price said, and never run about at all, for a long time. That was a new thing forBecky, who had scarcely known what it was to sit still in her life outof school hours; but her back hurt her so much that she was obliged togive up trying to do all the active things she had been used to, one byone. Her father made her a little couch, and on this in her dark cornershe passed many weary hours alone, watching the hands travel round theface of the Dutch clock, and longing for the time for Dan to come homeand talk to her. Dan was her chief friend, for though father was verykind, he went early to work, and sometimes came back very late, so thatshe saw little of him; and as for mother, poor mother went out charing, and was so tired in the evening, that she generally dropped off to sleepdirectly she had washed up the tea-things. 

So Becky's life was lonely, and often full of pain, which was the harderto bear because she had no companion to cheer her and help her to forgetit. She even grew to look forward to Dr Price's visits, short as theywere, for the day did not seem quite so long when he had clattered inwith his dogs at his heels, and spoken to her in his loud kind voice. He was a nice gentleman, she thought, though he did not cure the pain inher back. Besides Dr Price there was only Dan, and when on leavingschool Dan got a place as gardener's boy, Becky felt sad as well aspleased, for he would now be away all day. 

Just at this fortunate moment, when it was so much needed, the greykitten had arrived, to be her friend and playfellow, and to comfort herwith its coaxing ways. It was, as Dan had said, not nearly so dull now. The kitten shared her meals, played all manner of games with her, almost answered her when she talked to it, and when it was tired wouldjump up to her shoulder and snuggle itself to sleep. The feeling of thewarm soft fur against her cheek was so soothing, that often at suchtimes she would take a nap too, and wake up to find that quite a longwhile had passed without her knowing it. 

So, as she told Dan, it had all been better since the kitten came, andsomehow it seemed to make a part of all the fancies and thoughts thatpassed through her mind, as she lay dreaming, yet awake, on her couch. Becky had never made "plans in her head, " as she called them, while shewas well and strong, and could run about all day. But now that herlimbs had to be idle, her mind began to grow busy, and though she couldnot move out of the dusky kitchen, she took long journeys in fancy, andsaw many strange things with her eyes fast shut. Some of these shewould describe to Dan, and some she kept quite to herself; but now, since hearing of Dennis Chester's Round Robin, they all took one form. They were always connected with him or his sister, and what he had donefor her father, and curiously enough the grey kitten seemed to belong tothem, and she seldom thought of one without the other. If it could havespoken, how many interesting facts it could have told her about its lifeat Fieldside with Dennis and Maisie! Perhaps its little purring songwas full of such memories, as it lay pressed up so close to Becky'scheek. At any rate it contrived in some way to get into most of herdreams, whether asleep or awake. But though her life was on the wholehappier than it had been, there were still some very hard days for Beckyto bear, days when the kitten's merriest gambols were not enough to makeher forget her pain. 

They were generally days when Mrs Tuvvy had "run short, " as she calledit, and left very little for dinner, so that; Becky grew faint and lowfor want of food. For Mrs Tuvvy, even when her husband brought home hiswages regularly, was not a good manager. On Saturday night and Sundayshe would provide a sort of feast, and have everything of the best. After that the supplies became less and less each day, until on Fridayor Saturday there was not much besides bread and cheese, or a redherring, until Tuvvy brought home his wages again. On such uncertainfare poor Becky did not thrive, and she always knew that towards the endof the week she should have a "bad day" of pain and weariness. 

"There ain't much dinner for yer, " said Mrs Tuvvy one morning as shestood ready to go out charing. "I've put it on the shelf. Don't you gogiving any to that foolish kitten, and I'll see and bring summat homefor supper. "

The door banged, and Becky was alone. She and the kitten would be alonenow until five o'clock, and must pass the time as they could. Themorning went quickly enough, and when it was nearly one o'clock thekitten, who knew it was dinner-time, began to mew and look up at theshelf. 

Becky sighed a little as she took down the mug and plate. Therecertainly was not "much, " as Mrs Tuvvy had said, and, moreover, whatthere was did not look tempting, for there was only a little watery milkand a piece of hard bread and cheese. 

"I wish we had nourishing things for dinner, kitty, " she said, as shepoured some milk into a saucer, and crumbled some bread into it. "You'dlike pies and chickens and such, shouldn't you? and so should I. Idon't seem to care about bread and cheese. "

The kitten ate up its portion eagerly and looked for more, with a littleinquiring mew. 

"No, no, Kitty, " answered Becky, "there ain't no more to-day. To-day'sFriday, you know. We'll have to wait and see what mother brings backfor supper. P'r'aps it'll be fried fish or sausages--think of that!You must wash your face now, and go to sleep, and the time'll soonpass. "

The kitten soon took the last part of this advice, and curled itselfinto a soft little ball beside its mistress, but somehow Becky could notsleep this afternoon. The sofa seemed to be harder than usual, full ofstrange knobs and lumps that were not generally there. Whichever wayshe tried to lie was more uncomfortable than the last; the room felt hotand stifling, the rain pattered with a dull sound against the window, and her back began to ache badly. Presently she left off trying to goto sleep, and a few tears dropped on to the kitten's furry back. Itwould be such a long time before any one came home!

Just then a horse's hoofs clattered down the street, and there was asmart rap on the door. It was flung open, and on the threshold stood DrPrice, booted and spurred, the eager white faces of Snip and Snap in thebackground, with their tongues lolling out thirstily. Poor Beckyclutched her kitten to her breast in terror. 

"Oh, " she cried, "the dogs! Don't let 'em come in. I've got a cat!"

But it was too late. Snip and Snap were in already, running round thekitchen in search of game, sniffing and poking their black noseseverywhere. In another minute Becky felt sure they would leap on thesofa, and snatch the kitten from her. 

"Oh, _do_ send 'em out, " she cried in an agony. "They'll kill it. "

"Not they, " said the doctor soothingly. "Don't you be afraid. We'llsoon settle 'em. --Here, Snip, Snap, come out of that, you rascals. "

It was not, however, settled very soon. Becky lay trembling on hercouch, while Dr Price gave chase round the kitchen to the dogs, lashingat them with his whip, stumbling over chairs, and giving loud and suddenexclamations as they continually escaped his grasp. At last, however, he caught them, and with one white body dangling from each hand, carriedthem to the door, threw them out, and shut it. Then he straightenedhimself, wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and cast a glance athis patient. 

"Little beggars!" he said half admiringly. But now that the danger wasover, Becky broke down entirely, and the doctor was dismayed to see thatshe was sobbing violently, and could not say a word. He strode acrossthe room, and put his arm gently round her. 

"It's all right, you know, Becky, " he said kindly; "the kitten's allright. You mustn't cry so now. They frightened you, didn't they? Butthey shan't come in again. "

Becky struggled with her tears, and after a while she was able to saythat 'twarn't only the dogs, but her back was a bit bad to-day, and shedidn't seem to be able to help crying. 

"H'm, " said the doctor, pulling his hay-coloured moustache thoughtfully, and glancing at the empty plate. "What time did you have dinner?"

"About one, " said Becky faintly; "but I didn't just seem to care aboutit. "

"But I daresay you could fancy something now, couldn't you?" said DrPrice, getting up. "Something very nice and hot. I'll be back in aminute. Don't you mind the dogs; they can't get in. "

In a very short space of time he was out of the door and back again, followed, not by the dogs, but by a boy from the cook-shop, carrying acovered dish. 

"Now, " he said, "you just set to work on this, and you'll feel ever somuch better. "

Becky's eyes brightened at the smell of the savoury food. Hot roastmutton and potatoes seemed almost too good to be eaten all by herself;but she did not hesitate long, and began her meal with evidentenjoyment. Dr Price sat near, whistling very softly to himself, andsometimes leaving off to smile a little under his light moustache, asSnip and Snap continued to hurl themselves with hoarse cries against thedoor. 

"Well, " he said, as Becky lingered over the last piece on her plate, "how do you like my physic? Is it good?"

"It's beautiful, sir, " answered Becky, "and it's done me a deal of good;but might I give this bit to the kitten? She didn't have much dinnermore than me to-day. "

"To be sure, " said the doctor, and he watched with serious interestwhile Becky prepared a little meal for her pet, and put the plate on thefloor. "So _you've_ got a cat, have you, " he continued, bending down toexamine the grey kitten. "Little Miss Chester offered me a cat theother day. "

"That's Master Dennis Chester's sister, ain't it?" asked Becky withsudden interest. "Do you know him too?"

The doctor nodded. "I see them about often, " he said. "Nice littlegirl, and nice little boy. "

Becky gave a solemn shake of the head. 

"He's more than nice, " she said; "he's just splendid. Do you know whathe did for father?"

Mr Price did not know; and Becky, strengthened and refreshed by herdinner, sat up eagerly on her sofa and told him the whole story, towhich he listened very gravely. 

"Well, that's a very good job, " he said, as she ended. "We must hope MrTuvvy will be able to keep straight. But there's lots of public-housesin Upwell, you know, as well as the Cross Keys at Fieldside, to tempt aman. "

"They don't matter near so much, " said Becky. "Father don't as a rulewant to go out again after he's once home. Not unless, " she added, witha little sigh, "it's washing day. "

Dr Price gave a slow smile, took out his watch, and jumped to his feetwith a suddenness that made Becky start. 

"I ought to be seven miles off by this, " he said, striding to the door. "Good-bye, Becky. "

He seemed to Becky to make one spring from the door to his horse's back, and to gallop furiously up the street the next minute. There were oneor two sharp, shrill shrieks from Snip and Snap as they tore after him, and then all was silent. 

Dr Price's visits often ended in this abrupt way, but Becky wished hecould have stayed a little longer this afternoon, for she was just goingto ask him to take a message for her to Master Dennis, and say how verygrateful she and Dan felt. However, as that could not be, she comfortedherself by making up her mind to ask him next time he came, and settledcosily down to wait for Dan's arrival, when she could tell him all thathad passed. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

PHILIPPA'S VISIT. 

"There is no doubt, " said Mrs Trevor, "that the air of Fieldside suitsdear Philippa; it seems to sooth her nerves. "

"I think it does, " answered Miss Mervyn. 

"And there is no doubt, " continued Mrs Trevor, "that the child needschange. She is unusually uncertain in her temper, and Dr Smith advisedthe sea-side at once. But it would be much easier to send her to mysister's. "

"And she would have her cousins to play with, " suggested Miss Mervyn. 

"I do so wish Katharine had not such odd notions, " continued Mrs Trevordiscontentedly; "it quite makes me hesitate to let Philippa go theremuch. Those children are allowed to mix with all sorts of people. "

"They are nice little children, " Miss Mervyn ventured to say. 

"Nice enough at _present_, " said Mrs Trevor, "but who knows how theywill grow up? If I were their father--However, you think it would be agood plan to ask my sister to have Philippa for a few days?"

"I certainly do, " said Miss Mervyn, with earnest conviction. 

Every one at Haughton Park thought so too, for Philippa had been sotroublesome lately, that she had made the whole household uncomfortableas well as herself. "The dear child must be ill, " Mrs Trevor said, andsent for Dr Smith. 

"The old story, my dear madam, " he said; "sensitive nerves. I shouldadvise sending your daughter to the sea-side with some young companions. It is important that the system should be braced, and the mind gentlyamused. "

On consideration, Mrs Trevor did not see how she could manage to supplyPhilippa with sea-air as well as young companions, but it occurred toher that the air of Fieldside might do as well, and to this Miss Mervynhad heartily agreed. So a letter was at once written to Miss Chester, and the subject gently broken to Philippa, who, greatly to every one'ssurprise and relief, made no difficulty whatever. 

"I shall take the kitten with me, " she said, rather defiantly, andnothing would have pleased Mrs Trevor better, for Philippa's kitten hadbecome a plague and a worry to every one from morning till night. Therewere endless complaints about it. It was a thief, it had a bad temper, it scratched the satin chairs in the drawing-room, it climbed up thecurtains, it was always in the way. It had broken a whole trayful ofwine-glasses. Scarcely a day passed without some fresh piece ofmischief. Perhaps the poor kitten could hardly be blamed for all this, for it would have been difficult for a wiser thing than a kitten tounderstand how to behave under such circumstances. Philippa would petand spoil it one day, and scold it the next, so that it never quite knewwhen it was doing right or wrong. There was no doubt, however, thatsince its arrival there was less peace and quietness than ever atHaughton Park. 

Meanwhile at Fieldside the idea of Philippa's visit was received withsomething like dismay. She had never stayed more than one day before, and there was a good deal of doubt in the children's minds as to whethershe would make herself agreeable. Dennis in particular felt thisstrongly. 

"Will Philippa stay two days or three days, Aunt Katharine?" he askedwhen he heard the news. "When Aunt Trevor says two or three days, doesshe count the one she comes and the one she goes, because that onlyleaves one clear day?"

"Oh, I daresay if you're happy together, " answered Miss Chester, "hermother will like her to stay longer than that. "

It was breakfast time, and she was reading a pile of letters which hadjust arrived, so that she did not pay much attention to the children. Dennis turned to Maisie and said softly: "I think one clear day's quitelong enough; don't you?"

Maisie took some thoughtful spoonfuls of porridge before she answered. 

"I'm not quite sure. Sometimes the longer she stays the nicer shegets. "

"But, anyhow, " objected Dennis, "I don't like her while she's _getting_nice, so I think it's best for her to go away soon. "

Maisie was not quite so sure of this as her brother, though she too feltgrave doubts about Philippa's behaviour. If she were in a nice mood, her visit might be pleasant, for there were plenty of things to show herat Fieldside, and plenty to do, if she would only be interested in them, and not have her "grown-up" manner. 

"I wonder what she'll say to Darkie, " she said, as she sat thinking ofthis after breakfast. 

"She'll say Blanche is much prettier, " answered Dennis; "she always saysher things are nicer than ours. "

"She hasn't seen him beg yet, " said Maisie. 

It was not long before Philippa had this opportunity, for when she wassitting at tea with her cousins that evening, she happened to look downat her side, and there was Darkie begging. He was the oddest littleblack figure possible, bolt upright, his bushy tail spread out at theback like a fan, and his paws neatly drooped in front. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, laughing; "how lovely! What a clever cat!"

"He always does it, " said Dennis, with quiet pride. "We taught him. "

"I told you he begged, " added Maisie. "Why don't you teach Blanche?"

"I don't believe she could learn, " said Philippa. "She's quite anuisance at meal times. She stands up and claws and mews until she isfed. She doesn't give any peace. "

Maisie looked shocked. 

"That's not at all well-behaved, " she said. "You oughtn't to let her dothat. "

"I can't help it, " answered Philippa. "I often box her ears, but it'sno good. She's a greedy cat, I think. Not so nice as this one, andafter all, black is a better colour than white, and Darkie has a bushytail. "

Dennis looked triumphant, but Maisie was sorry to think that the whitekitten was not turning out well; and though she had never liked it asmuch as the others, she felt it was not entirely its own fault. Philippa evidently did not know how to manage cats. She was now on thepoint of giving Darkie a large corner of buttered toast, when Dennisinterfered. 

"You mustn't do that, please, " he said firmly. "Darkie's _never_ fed atmeals. He has his tea afterwards in his own dish. "

"Well!" said Philippa, looking very much surprised, "I _do_ call thatcruel. You don't mean to say you let him sit up like that for nothing!Blanche wouldn't bear that. If we don't give her what she wants atonce, she cries so loud that we're obliged to. "

"She's learned that of you, I suppose, hasn't she?" said Dennis. 

He spoke without any intention of offending his cousin, and did not meanto be rude; but Philippa drew herself up, and flushed a pale pink allover her face. 

"You're a rude boy, " she said. Then after a pause, she gave a littlenod at him, and added, "Mother says you've just the air of a littleHodge the ploughboy. So there!"

But this arrow did not hit the mark, though Philippa had aimed it asstraight as she could. Dennis did not mind being called a ploughboy abit. He had seen lots of them, and considered theirs an agreeable andinteresting occupation; so he only shrugged his shoulders, and left herto recover her temper as she could. 

It never answered to be cross at Fieldside, and Philippa had found thisout before. There was nothing gained by it. Maisie only lookedsurprised and sorry, Dennis took no notice at all, and Aunt Katharinewas much too busy to spend any time in settling disputes. This beingthe case, it was surprising to see how soon Philippa got over herpassionate fits, and was ready to behave as though nothing had happened. 

It was so now, for though she was rather sulky with Dennis all theevening, she got up in quite a good temper the next morning, and did notseem to remember that he had been rude. The three children started offfor a walk together soon after breakfast, for Aunt Katharine wanted amessage taken to the Manor Farm. On the way, Dennis and Maisie had muchto tell about Mr and Mrs Solace, their house, and all their animals; andPhilippa listened with interest, though she thought it all rather "odd. "This word was indeed constantly on her lips, for her cousins seemed tolive in such a very different way from anything she was used to at home. When they passed through the village, nodding and smiling to nearlyevery one they met, and making little friendly remarks to the people attheir cottage doors, she could not help thinking of her stiff walk inthe park with Miss Mervyn, which always lasted a certain time if it wasfine, and from which she often came back feeling very cross. If thewalk at Fieldside were "odd, " it was certainly amusing, and she began towish there were a village at Haughton. 

Presently the village ended, and now there was a long narrow lane to gothrough before the Manor Farm was reached. 

"What a nice stick you've got, " said Philippa to Dennis. 

"It _is_ a jolly stick, isn't it?" he said, holding it out for her tosee more closely. 

It had all manner of quaint knots on the stem, and the large knob at thetop was carved into a very excellent likeness of the little rough dogPeter. Philippa looked at it with admiration. 

"I should like one like that, " she said. "Where could I buy one?"

"You couldn't buy one at all, " said Dennis proudly; "it was made for me. Tuvvy made it. "

"Who's Tuvvy?" inquired Philippa. 

"A friend of mine, " said Dennis; "he's Mr Solace's wheelwright. "

"Oh yes, I remember, " said Philippa; "Maisie told me about him. Whatodd friends you have!"

She looked curiously at Dennis as he marched along flourishing hisstick. It must be rather nice, she began to think, to do things forpeople, and for them to be so grateful, and carve sticks on purpose foryou. 

Still, it was "odd, " and there was a good deal in it that she did notunderstand. 

Arrived at the farm, however, her thoughts were soon distracted; firstby the appearance of the turkey-cock, and the agreeable discovery thatshe was not afraid of him. 

"What a baby you are, Maisie!" she exclaimed. 

"She isn't always, " said Dennis; "there are lots of things worse thanthe turkey-cock that she doesn't mind a bit. Things _you'd_ be afraidof, perhaps. --There is Mrs Solace at the door. "

Mrs Solace beamed at the children in her usual kindly way; and, as washer custom, would not think of their leaving the house without eatingsomething after their walk. At home Philippa would have despised breadand honey and new milk, but here somehow it tasted very good, and shewas too hungry to stop to call it odd. 

"The little lady wants some of your roses, Miss Maisie, " said MrsSolace, looking at the children as they sat side by side; "she's aswhite as a sloe-blossom. "

"My complexion's naturally delicate, thank you, " said Philippa, ratheroffended; "I never get sunburnt like Maisie. "

"Oh, well, maybe you've outgrown your strength a bit, my dear, " said thefarmer's wife, smiling comfortably. --"And now, Master Dennis, I mustn'tforget that Andrew's got a couple of young jackdaws for you: would youlike to take them back now, or let 'em bide here a little?"

There was some consultation between Dennis and his sister, before it wasfinally settled that the jackdaws should not be taken then and there toFieldside, but should first have a home prepared for them. 

"And I know just where to build it, " he said, as the three childrenstarted on their return after saying good-bye to Mrs Solace. "Just inthat corner, you know, between the fowl-house and the cow-shed. "

"Do you know how to build it?" asked Philippa. 

"Well, perhaps not just quite exactly, " said Dennis with candour; "butTuvvy will tell me and help with the difficult parts. He passes throughour field every night, you know. "

"And shall you work at it just like a carpenter?" asked Philippa withsurprise. 

"As like as I can, " said Dennis modestly; "you see, I do know a littlecarpentering because I've watched Tuvvy so much. "

"You're a _very_ odd boy, " said Philippa. Every day that she passed atFieldside she became more and more certain that her cousins did strangethings, and liked strange things; but, at the same time, there wassomething pleasant about the life they led, and she did not feel crossnearly as often as she did at home. She even began to share theirinterest in the affairs of the village. 

"I wish there were people at Haughton I could go and see like this, " shesaid one day. 

"But there isn't any village at Haughton, " said Dennis. "There's onlythe Upwell Road outside the gates. "

"There are lots of poor people in Upwell, though, " said Philippa. 

"That's quite different, " said Dennis; "Upwell's a town. I don'tsuppose Aunt Katharine would let Maisie and me go about alone there aswe do here. "

For the rest of Philippa's visit she and Maisie were left a good deal toeach other's society, for Dennis was now entirely occupied with thebuilding of the jackdaws' house under Tuvvy's advice and direction. Oneafternoon the two little girls were sitting together in the play-room, threading beads on horsehair to make a collar for Darkie. 

"What made Dennis want to help Tuvvy?" asked Philippa suddenly. "Was itafter he had carved that stick for him?"

"Why, no; of course not, " said Maisie. "Tuvvy did that because he wasso much obliged to Dennis. "

"Well, then, " repeated Philippa, "why _did_ Dennis take all that troublefor him?"

"He liked him, " said Maisie; "and when you like people, you want toplease them, I suppose. "

"I don't think I do, " said Philippa slowly; "I want them to please me. "

"But that isn't fair, " said Maisie. "You ought to please them if theyplease you; even Darkie knows that. Aunt Katharine says, " she added, "that you ought to try to help people and be kind to them, whetherthey're kind to you or not. "

Philippa shrugged her shoulders and seemed to have had enough of thatsubject, but although she was silent she thought it over in her mind. Maisie, meanwhile, was occupied with a very usual matter--the greykitten's fate. She was never tired of wondering where it was, who hadfound it, or whether it was alive at all, and as she had no news of it, the subject was likely to last a long time. 

"We shall never be able to see now which of the three is the greatestcomfort, " she said aloud, "because I don't suppose we shall ever see thegrey kitten again. "

"Darkie's the best, " said Philippa; "he's so clever, and so handsometoo. "

"Don't you like Blanche?" asked Maisie, dropping her work and lookingearnestly at her cousin. 

"Sometimes, " said Philippa airily, "but she isn't a comfort. MissMervyn says she's a plague, and mother would send her away directly ifshe wasn't mine. If she was as nice and well-behaved as Darkie, weshould all love her. "

"But, " said Maisie, "Darkie is naughty by nature. He really is. We'vehad a great deal of trouble to make him obedient and good. He was amuch worse little kitten than Blanche ever was. "

"Well, " said Philippa, "I'm quite sure no one could have had moreadvantages than Blanche. She's had everything she wants, and beenallowed to do just as she likes. "

"Then, " said Maisie solemnly, "I expect you've spoilt her, and that'swhy she's so troublesome and naughty. "

"Perhaps I have and perhaps I haven't, " said Philippa recklessly; "I'mtired of threading beads. Let's go out and see how Dennis is gettingon. "

On the whole, in spite of some sulky moods and one or two fits oftemper, Philippa's visit passed off extremely well, and Maisie was quitesorry when the time came to say good-bye. She and Dennis watched thecarriage drive away, and waved their hands to her as long as it was insight. 

"She's been quite nice nearly all the while, " said Maisie; "I wish shehad stopped longer. "

She spoke sincerely, for just now Dennis was so absorbed in hisjackdaws' house that she felt she should miss Philippa and be ratherdull. 

"Can't I help you?" she asked, as she followed him to the corner wherethe jackdaws' house was being put up. It was not much to look at yet, but there were some upright posts, and a roll of wire netting, and somethin lathes of wood and a good deal of sawdust about, so that it had abusiness air. 

"Well, you see, " said Dennis, "girls always hurt their fingers withtools, but perhaps you shall try to-morrow. It's too late now. Doesn'tit seem a waste, when you're doing something you like, to go to bed andsleep all night?"

"But if you didn't, " said Maisie, "you couldn't go on with it, becauseit's all dark. "

"I don't know that, " said Dennis; "Tuvvy says it's light all night partof the summer. --There's the tea-bell; we must go in. "

"I shouldn't like to be out in the night, " said Maisie, with a littleshiver, as the children ran towards the house, "when everything's inbed, and it's all so quiet and still. "

"Everything isn't in bed, " said Dennis. "There's owls, and glow-worms, and bats, and--"

"But they're none of them very _nice_ things to be with, " said Maisiehesitatingly; "and then there are bad people out at night, who get intohouses and steal things, as they did at Upwell, don't you remember?"

"Oh, you mean thieves, " said Dennis; "but as far as they go, it's betterto be out of doors than in the house. The policemen are out all nightas well as the thieves, so it wouldn't matter a bit. "

"Well, you won't forget, " said Maisie, quitting the subject of thieves, which was an unpleasant one to her, "that to-morrow morning I'm to helpyou with the jackdaws' house. "

Dennis did not forget, and the following day Maisie was supplied with ahammer, and began her work with great zeal, but alas! two minutes hadnot passed before the heavy hammer came crashing down on her chubbyfingers instead of on the nail she was holding. It was a dreadfulmoment, not only because of the pain, which was severe, but because shefelt that it stamped her inferiority as a girl for ever. She lookedpiteously up at Dennis with her fingers in her mouth, and her eyes fullof tears. 

"There!" he began tauntingly, but seeing Maisie's round face quiver withpain, he stopped, threw down his tools, and knelt beside her on thegrass. 

"Does it hurt much?" he said. "Come in to Aunt Katharine. "

Maisie suffered him to lead her into the house without saying a word, for she wanted all her strength to keep from sobbing. The poor fingerswere bathed and bound up, and after she had been kissed and comforted, Aunt Katharine said that on the whole she thought Maisie had better notuse hammer and nails again. Maisie thought so too just then, butpresently, when the pain went off, she began to feel sorry that she wasnot to help with the jackdaws' house any more. Certainly, as AuntKatharine pointed out, she could watch Dennis at his work and giveadvice; but as he never by any chance took any one's advice but Tuvvy's, that would not be very amusing. 

"You can hand me the nails, you know, " said Dennis, as she sat with asorrowful face on Aunt Katharine's knee, "and after the jackdaws are in, you can always help to feed them. " And with this she was obliged toconsole herself. 

CHAPTER TEN. 

ONE WHITE PAW. 

The jackdaws' house got on slowly, and this was not surprising, asDennis had a way of pulling his work to pieces and doing it all overagain. Maisie grew impatient sometimes, for at this rate she thoughtthe jackdaws would not be settled in their home until summer was over. 

"Hadn't you better let Tuvvy finish it off?" she said one day, whenDennis had spent a full hour in trying to fix a perch to hissatisfaction; "it wouldn't take a real carpenter more than half anhour. "

Dennis made no answer at first to this taunt. Maisie was only a girl, who did not understand, so it did not matter what she said. Whistlingsoftly, he tried all manner of different positions for the perch, butnone pleased him. After all, it would certainly be necessary to haveTuvvy's advice, but that was quite another matter to letting him do thework. 

"I shall have to go and see Tuvvy, " he said, carelessly throwing downthe piece of wood he held; "perhaps Aunt Katharine will let you go too. You could stop at old Sally's, if you didn't want to go into the barn. "

As it happened, Aunt Katharine wanted to send a pudding to old Sally, who had been ill, and she gladly gave Maisie leave to go with Dennis, soPeter in attendance, and the pudding in a basket, the children set outthe next morning directly after their lessons. 

Maisie was pleased to make this visit, and it was such a very brightfresh June morning, that everything out of doors seemed to be as happyas herself as she danced along, with Peter jumping and barking at herside. The sky was as bright blue as the speedwell in the hedges; theleaves on the trees, not old enough yet to be dark and heavy, flutteredgaily in the wind, and made a light green shimmer everywhere. Thefields were still dressed in yellow and white, for none of the farmershad cut their grass, and in the woods the deep purple hyacinths stilllingered, though these were nearly over. It looked a very happy, bright, flowery world, with everything in it fresh and new, and nothingold or sad to think about. 

Maisie had not much to trouble her either that morning, but there wasone little sad thought which would come creeping out of a corner in hermind sometimes, and that was the fate of the grey kitten. She wonderednow, as she checked her pace to a walk, and rebuked Peter for snuffingat the pudding, whether old Sally might have heard something about itfrom Eliza. There was always a faint hope of this, but it grew fainterwith each visit, and Dennis thought it quite silly to put the questionat all. Nevertheless Maisie made up her mind, with a quiet little nodto herself, that she would not forget to ask to-day. 

Sally and Anne were talking so very loud inside the cottage, that it wasa long while before the children could make themselves heard, and it wasnot until Dennis had battered on the door with his stick that it wasslowly opened. 

"Lawk, mother!" cried Anne, "it's the young lady and gentleman fromFieldside. --Come in, dearies, and sit ye down. "

Old Sally was sitting in the chimney corner wrapped in a shawl, herbrown old face looking a shade paler than usual. Anne set chairs forthe visitors next to her, and drew closely up herself on the other sideof them, prepared to join in the conversation as much as allowed by hermother, who was a great talker, and always took the lead. The two oldlilac sun-bonnets nodded one on each side of the children, as old Sallybegan plaintively:

"Yes, I've lost my appetite. I don't seem as if I could fancy nothingjust lately. I'm tired of the food--it's taters, taters, taters, tillI'm fair sick on 'em. Seems as if I could have a bit of summat green, it'd go down better. There was a gal brought me a mite of turnip topst'other day. 'Twarn't on'y a morsel, so as I could hardly find it inthe pot when it was biled, but it give a relish, like. "

"Aunt Katharine's sent you a pudding, " shouted Maisie, taking it out ofthe basket. 

"And sech a cough as _I've_ had, " put in Anne, seizing the opportunityto speak, while her mother warmed the end of her trumpet at the fire; "Iexpect it's a sharp touch of influenzy. "

"I seem to get weaker every day, " resumed old Sally, presenting hertrumpet for Maisie's use. "I crawled down to the gate, and couldn'thardly get back this morning. "

"Why don't you have the doctor?" asked Maisie. 

Sally shook her head. 

"I've never taken no doctor's stuff in all my days, " she said. "Annethere, she's had a deal, poor child; but 'twouldn't do _me_ no good. "

Dennis was beginning to make impatient signs, and Maisie knew he wouldnot stay much longer, so in spite of Anne, who was preparing to speak, she shouted hastily down the trumpet, "Has your daughter Eliza found thekitten?"

It was answered as she expected, by solemn shakes of the head, both fromSally and Anne, in the midst of which the children took their leave. 

"Please the Lord to send the rain and make the greens grow, " were oldSally's last words. But there did not seem much chance of rain yet, forthe sun was still shining splendidly, and as the children entered theshadowy barn, Tuvvy's dark figure was lighted up by a ray which camestraight through the little window. Maisie seated herself modestly inthe background on a chopping-block, while Dennis asked his questions, for she was rather in awe of Tuvvy, though she liked the barn very much, and found plenty to interest her. High up among the rough rafters overher head there were so many cobwebs hanging about, that it puzzled herto think where all the spiders were who had spun them. There were nospiders now, but there were masses of cobwebs in every nook and corner, some of them waving in the dimness like flimsy grey veils, others spreadabout in such strange shapes that they almost seemed alive. No doubtbats lived up there, Maisie thought, and she even fancied she could seethem clinging to the wall, dusky and shadowy as the cobwebs themselves. She turned her eyes with a little shudder, for she did not like bats, tothe floor of the barn, and this was much more cheerful to look at, forit was covered with pretty light yellow shavings all in curls andtwists. More continually floated down to join them from Tuvvy's bench, where he was planing a piece of wood for Dennis; they were exactly likethe flaxen hair of Maisie's favourite doll. Her serious gaze wanderedon to the end of the barn, which was almost filled up by a great machinesomething like a gigantic grasshopper. It looked terribly strong withits iron limbs, although it was at rest, and she felt half afraid of it, though she had often seen it before. What was it, and why was it there?

She could easily have put this question to Tuvvy, but Maisie seldomasked questions. She had a habit of turning things over in her ownlittle mind, and wrapping fancies round them, until she had quite acollection of strange objects in her small world. She would have missedthese very much, if they had been exposed to daylight and turned intofacts, and in this she was quite different from Dennis; he always wantedto know the reason why, and to have the meaning of things made quiteclear to him. 

She was not left long, however, to wonder about the big machine, forTuvvy, giving a sudden wag of his head towards it, said: "The elevator'smy next job, soon as hay harvest's over. Wants a lick o' paint. "

"How jolly!" exclaimed Dennis, turning towards it with admiration andenvy. "I say, won't it just take a lot of paint! What a jolly job!"

"I wish you had it then, master, " said Tuvvy grimly. "'Tain't the sortas pleases _me_. It don't give you no credit when it's done, and thepaint splashes you awful. It's what I call a reg'lar comical sort of ajob. "

"I should _like_ it, " said Dennis with deep conviction, still staring atthe elevator. "What colour shall you paint it?"

"Gaffer said 'twas to be a sort of a yaller, " said Tuvvy; "but it don'tmake much odds. There, master, " he continued, as he finished hisplaning, "that's what you want, and I'll stop to-morrow as I pass, andgive a look at the perches. "

Dennis would gladly have stayed much longer to go fully into thepainting of the elevator, and other like subjects; but he had beenwarned not to take up much of Tuvvy's time, so he unwillingly startedhome with Maisie, clutching his piece of wood under his arm. Until theyreached the village, he was so lost in thought that he did not utter aword, but then, coming to a sudden standstill, he exclaimed: "Whyshouldn't we paint the jackdaws' house!"

Maisie was struck by the brilliancy of the idea. She stopped too, andgazed at Dennis with admiration. 

"It would be splendid, " she said. "Do you think Aunt Katharine wouldlet me help?"

"Why, of course, " said Dennis; "it's _quite_ a different thing fromusing tools. _Any one_ can paint!"

"Only the splashes, " said Maisie a little doubtfully. "Tuvvy said yougot splashed all over. Aunt Katharine mightn't like me to spoil myfrocks. "

"As to that, " said Dennis, "you could wear a big apron. Painters alwaysdo. Hulloa! it's raining!"

So it was. The bright sunshine had vanished, and the sky was downcastand grey. First it rained gently, then faster, then it made up its mindin good earnest, and a regular downpour of drops pattered on the hedges, and fell softly on the dusty roads. 

"How pleased old Sally will be, " said Maisie, "because of the greens!"

"P'r'aps we'd better go in somewhere, " said Dennis, looking at hissister's frock; "you're getting awfully wet, and we haven't got anumbrella. "

They were just passing Dr Price's lodgings. Snip and Snap, who stood atthe gate snuffing up the moist fresh air with their black noses, waggedtheir stumpy tails in a friendly manner to the children, and growled atPeter at the same time. 

"You go in, " continued Dennis, hurrying his sister up to the door, "andI'll run home and fetch umbrellas and cloaks for you. Aunt Katharinealways says you're not to get wet. "

Maisie would much rather have gone on with Dennis, and did not mind therain a bit; but it was quite true that Aunt Katharine did not like herto get wet. So she yielded, and stood waiting in the little porch forthe door to be opened, while Dennis sped up the road, and was soon outof sight. 

"Come in, dearie, and welcome, " said Mrs Budget, the doctor's landlady, when Maisie had asked for shelter, "and I'll just get a clean cloth andtake off the worst of the damp. "

She led the way to a very clean kitchen, talking all the while, andflapped vigorously at Maisie's skirt with a towel. 

"The doctor's just in, and I says to him, `Now I do hope, sir, you'llget your meal in comfort to-day, for it's as tidy a little bit ofgriskin as any one need wish to see, and done to a turn. ' Owin' to hisprofession, he don't give his vittles no chance, the doctor don't. Mosttimes he eats 'em standing, and then up in saddle and off again. It's ahard life, that it is, and he don't even get his nights reg'lar. Snugand warm in bed, and ring goes that bothering night-bell. If it was me, I should turn a deaf ear sometimes, pertickler in the winter. --Is yourboots wet, my dear? No; then come in and see the doctor. He'll bepleased. "

Maisie would have liked to stay in the kitchen with Mrs Budget, but shewas too polite to refuse this invitation, and soon found herself at thedoor of the doctor's sitting-room. 

"Little Miss Chester, sir, " said Mrs Budget, "come to shelter from therain;" and thereupon vanished to dish up the dinner. 

Maisie looked curiously round the room. It was small, and smeltstrongly of tobacco smoke; chairs, mantelpiece, and floor were untidilylittered with old newspapers, books, pipes, and bills scattered about inconfusion; a pair of boxing-gloves, which looked to her like theenormous hands of some dead giant, hung on the wall, and on each side ofthem a bright silver tankard on a bracket. 

The doctor himself looming unnaturally large, sat sideways at the tableon which a cloth was laid, reading a newspaper. He had his hat on, slightly tilted over one eye, and his booted legs were stretched outbefore him with an air of relief after fatigue. He jumped up when hesaw the shy little figure on the threshold, and took off his hat. 

"Come in, come in, Miss Maisie, " he said. "Why, this _is_ an honour. Where's your brother?"

"Dennis ran home for umbrellas, " said Maisie, placing herself with somedifficulty on the high horsehair-chair which he cleared with a sweep ofhis large hand; "it's raining fast. "

"Why, so it is, " said her host, glancing out of the window, "and tenminutes ago there was no sign of it. That's a good sight for thefarmers. And where have you been? Far?"

"We've been to see Tuvvy, " replied Maisie gravely; "he's helping Dennis, you know, with the jackdaws' house. "

"Ah, to be sure, " said Dr Price readily, though this was the first timehe had heard of such a thing. "Tuvvy's a clever fellow, isn't he? Andso he's going to stay on at the farm, after all?"

"Dennis did that, you know, " said Maisie, forgetting her shyness alittle. "Dennis made a Round Robin, and all the men put their names, and so Mr Solace let Tuvvy stop. "

The doctor nodded, with a little smile. He seemed to know all about it, and this did not surprise Maisie, who thought it quite natural that sucha great event should be widely spread. 

"And since then, " she went on, encouraged the attentive expression onher listener's face, "he's been as steady as steady! He doesn't have topass the Cross Keys now, you know, because he goes home over our field, and he thinks it's partly that. It was the red blind drew him in, yousee, and then he couldn't come out again. "

Dr Price nodded again, and his smile widened in spite of evident effortsto conceal it, as Maisie turned her serious gaze full upon him. 

"Just so, " he said. 

At that very minute it struck Maisie that she had made a dreadfulmistake. She ought not to have mentioned red blinds to Dr Price. Dennis had told her he was sometimes "like Tuvvy. " She hung her head, and her round cheeks flushed scarlet. 

"I heard all about it the other day, Miss Maisie, " said the doctor in avery kind voice, "and who do you think told me? Tuvvy's little girl. She's got a brother about the age of yours, and they both think a lot ofwhat you did for their father. "

Maisie began to forget her confusion in the interest of Tuvvy's littlegirl. She stole a glance at the doctor, who did not look a bit vexed ather unlucky speech, but went on as good-naturedly as ever. 

"She's a nice little maid, and it's hard lines for her just now. Shehas to lie quite still all day because she's hurt her back. But she'svery good and patient. "

"Can't you make her well?" asked Maisie, remembering the firm faith ofthe village people in Dr Price. 

"Oh, I hope so, " he replied cheerfully. "But it takes time, and it'sdull and lonely for her, you see, while her people are out at work allday. "

"Is she _all_ alone?" asked Maisie. "Hasn't she got _any one_ to bewith her?"

"Well, she's got a kitten, " answered Dr Price, "and that seems a comfortto her, but that's about all. By the way, Miss Maisie, " he added, "howare all your cats? What became of the kitten you offered me some timeback?"

"Oh, " said Maisie sorrowfully, "didn't you hear about it? We gave it toold Sally's Eliza at Upwell, and it ran out through the front shop andgot lost in the streets. Aunt Katharine doesn't think we shall hear ofit again now. It _was_ such a dear little kitten; not pretty likeDarkie, but very good and sweet, and purred more than any of them. "

"That _was_ a bad job, " said the doctor sympathetically. 

"Is Tuvvy's little girl's kitten a pretty one?" asked Maisie. 

"Well, as to that, " he replied slowly, "it looked to me about like othercats, but then I didn't notice it much, you see, because I'm not so fondof 'em as you are. If it had been a dog now, I could have told you allits points at once. The little girl--Becky her name is--was very fondof it, that's quite certain. "

Deeply interested, Maisie secretly wondered what the "points" of a dogwere, and concluded that they must mean its paws and the tip of itstail. After a minute's silence she put another question, rathersternly. 

"What colour was it? You _must_ have seen that. "

Dr Price looked quite cast down by this severe examination. 

"I'm afraid I didn't, " he said humbly; "you see they always look aliketo me. "

"There's _quite_ as much difference in them as there is in dogs, " saidMaisie in an instructive voice; "Madam's three last kittens were not abit alike. One was black--we kept that; one was quite white--we gavethat to Philippa; and one was stripey grey, and that was the one thatwent to Upwell and got lost. "

"It would be odd, wouldn't it?" suggested the doctor, "if it was the oneI saw at Tuvvy's. "

Maisie sat very upright, with a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. 

"Could it be?" she exclaimed. "How did the little girl get it?"

Dr Price shook his head with a guilty air. "Didn't ask, " he said. 

His conduct with regard to the kitten had been thoroughlyunsatisfactory, but he looked so sorry, that Maisie could not be hardupon him. 

"Never mind, " she said graciously; "I daresay, if you don't like cats--It had one white paw, " she added quickly, with renewed hope, "but Idaresay you didn't even notice that. "

Dr Price was so anxious to please, that it is possible he might havegone the length of remembering the one white paw, but he was saved fromthis rashness by the entrance of Mrs Budget, bearing a covered dish fromwhich came a very savoury smell. 

"There's Miss Pringle stepping down with cloak and umbrella for MissChester, " she said, "so I thought I'd just bring the dinner straight in. It's done to a turn, and smells like a nosegay, " she added, lifting thecover with a triumphant flourish. 

Pringle was Aunt Katharine's maid. It was most tiresome of her to comejust now, for Maisie felt she might really be on the track of the lostkitten at last. She knew, however, that she must not stay any longer, and keep the doctor from the enjoyment of his dinner, so with a littlesigh she slid off her chair, and held out her band to say good-bye. 

"And if I were you, Miss Maisie, " were the doctor's parting words, as hefollowed her out to the door, and folded the big cloak carefully roundher, "I should just go over to Upwell, and have a look at that kittenone day. You'd leave it with Becky, wouldn't you, if it does turn outto be yours?"

Maisie's eyes were bright, and her cheeks flushed with excitement. 

"Of course we should, " she said; "that is, if old Sally's Eliza doesn'tmind, and it's a really good home. "

The doctor lingered so long in the porch looking after his little guestas she hurried up the wet road by Pringle's side, that Mrs Budgetreplaced the cover with a hasty crash. 

"There's no credit in cooking for him, none at all, " she muttered. 

As for Maisie, she would have liked wings to fly back to Fieldside withthis wonderful news, but she had to restrain her impatience and keeppace with Pringle, who held the umbrella and took mincing steps throughthe mud. 

The way seemed endless, and when she did arrive, it was disappointing tofind that Aunt Katharine would not be home till late in the evening. There was therefore only Dennis to whom she could pour out the story ofTuvvy's little daughter, and her hopes and fears about the grey kitten. He was interested and impressed at first, but very soon ready to dismissthe subject and return to the one which really filled his mind--thepainting of the jackdaws' house. 

"Only fancy, " said Maisie, breaking out again for the twentieth time, asthe children sat at dinner, "if it should be our dear little grey kittenwho we thought was dead. Wouldn't it be lovely?"

"Yes, " said Dennis absently. Then, after a moment's pause: "What colourhad we better paint it?"

"Paint it!" repeated Maisie vaguely; but meeting a look of scorn fromDennis, she hastily added: "Oh, you mean the jackdaws' house; but you_are_ pleased about the kitten, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, " answered Dennis rather impatiently, "but that's only achance, you see. If it is the kitten, it is; and if it isn't, it isn't. But the jackdaws' house is a real thing, and we _must_ settle about thecolour. How do you think, " he went on seriously, "it would do to haveit the same colour that Tuvvy's going to do the elevator? He might letus have some of his paint, you see. "

"I shouldn't like it at all, " said Maisie promptly; "he said it was tobe a sort of a yaller, and I thought it sounded very ugly. "

"Well, then, " said Dennis, "you say a colour. "

Maisie thought it over, her eyes fixed on the meadows and thefast-falling rain outside. 

"I should paint it green, " she said suddenly. 

"Why?" asked Dennis. 

"Because it's a pretty colour, " she replied, "and the jackdaws wouldlike it. It's like the leaves and grass, and they might think they werein a tree. "

Dennis received the idea with a short laugh of contempt. 

"Jackdaws are not such ninnies as that, " he said. "They're sharp birds;they're not likely to mistake a cage for a tree. If we don't have ityellow, let's have it bright red, like Mr Solace's new wagon. "

Maisie had known from the first that her opinion was merely asked as amatter of form, Dennis would have the colour he wished and no other; soshe made no further objection, and it was settled, subject to AuntKatharine's approval, that the jackdaws' house should be painted thebrightest red possible to get. This done, Maisie retired into a cornerof the play-room with Madam, and related to her attentive ear thediscovery of that morning. --She was a better listener than Dennis, forat any rate she was not eager to talk on other matters, but Maisielonged to tell some one who really cared as much as she did herself. Aunt Katharine would be home soon, which was a comfort, and perhapsPhilippa too would like to know. She had never seen the grey kitten, but she had heard about it so very often. Maisie made up her mind towrite to her. She would have been surprised if she had known thatPhilippa also had made a discovery, and bad news to tell her of Madam'slost child. To hear what this discovery was, we must go back to the daywhen Philippa went home after her visit to Fieldside. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

PHILIPPA MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

When Philippa, looking back from her seat in the carriage by MrsTrevor's side, could no longer see Dennis and Maisie making signs offarewell, she leaned back with a pout of discontent. Her visit toFieldside was over, and she had been so happy, that it seemed flat anddull to be going home with only Miss Mervyn to see when she got there. As they drove quickly through the village, she looked quite longingly atall the familiar places they passed. At the post-office, where hercousins had taken her to fetch the afternoon letters and buybull's-eyes; at the cottage, where the old woman lived who had theimmense yellow cat; at the blacksmith's, who was shoeing Dr Price's greyhorse; and at the school-house, where the chubby-faced boys and girlswere just pouring out into the road. 

Farther on, she could see in the distance the gables and outbuildings ofthe Manor Farm, and the deep thatched roof of old Sally's cottage, fromwhich a thin thread of smoke was rising. She was sorry to leave allthese friendly things, and there seemed nothing to look forward to atHaughton Park, except perhaps the white kitten. She began to wonder howit was, and whether it had missed her, and remembering Maisie's advice, she determined that she would try to improve its behaviour, and make itinto a really good cat. Her first question, therefore, when she arrivedwas, "Where's Blanche?" and she looked impatiently at her mother for theanswer, for Mrs Trevor hesitated. 

"The kitten, my darling?" she said rather nervously; "the kitten's inthe stable, I think. I told Thomas to take great care of it. "

Philippa, who was on her way up-stairs, turned round and faced hermother defiantly. 

"Why is it in the stable?" she asked. "Who sent it there? It must comeback directly. "

"My sweet Philippa, " said Mrs Trevor in a soothing voice, "do listen tome a moment; the kitten is a naughty little mischievous thing, and Icannot put up with it in the house any longer. I will just tell youwhy. You know my new velvet mantle which has just come down fromLondon? The other day Briggs found the kitten lying in the very middleof it on my bed! Its paws were muddy, its hairs came off and stuck tothe velvet, and I doubt if the mantle will ever be the same. Now, mydarling, _don't_ agitate yourself. It will be quite happy in thestable, and we shall be much more comfortable without it indoors. Ifanything's broken or goes wrong, I'm always told it is `Miss Philippa'skitten, ' and I'm tired to death of it. "

Mrs Trevor paused and looked appealingly at her daughter, who onlystamped her foot angrily in reply. 

"I'll give you what you like for a pet instead of it. Love-birds, now, or a cockatoo? A cockatoo is no trouble at all, and quite an ornamentto the house, and worth a great deal more than a silly white kitten. --Where are you going, my love?"--for Philippa had suddenly rushed backthrough the hall and out of the front door. In a short time shereappeared with the kitten hugged up to her breast, passed her motherwithout a word, went straight into the schoolroom and shut the door veryloud. Mrs Trevor looked after her with a sigh of despair, but as usualmade no further attempt to oppose her, and Philippa was left to amuseherself with her kitten as she liked. 

But it was not nearly so easy, she said to herself, to find amusement atHaughton as it had been at Fieldside. There she had never known what itwas to be dull and cross; here she felt both, as she looked round theempty schoolroom with the white kitten tucked under one arm. The roomhad a prim, precise air, with all the books and toys carefully arrangedon the shelves, the musical box in its shining case on its ownparticular table, and nothing left lying about. Philippa pursed up herlips discontentedly. How different it was to the pleasant noise andbustle, and all the little daily excitements of Fieldside! How dull itwas! How sorry she was to come back to it! She let the kitten droplistlessly, and stood regarding her playthings and treasures with gloomydislike. Not one of them pleased her, not even her last new possession, the musical box. The kitten seemed to share her mood, for she walkedrestlessly about the room, sniffed in a disdainful way at the furniture, and gave a tiny peevish mew. 

"Here, Blanche, come and play, " cried Philippa. 

She threw an india-rubber ball across the floor, but the kitten hardlydeigned to turn her head towards it. 

"How stupid you are!" exclaimed her mistress angrily, as she thought ofDarkie's frolics and gambols. "You have heaps of things to play with, and yet you won't play, and I don't believe you're a bit glad to see meeither. "

Blanche continued to stroll uneasily round the room as though in searchof something, and took no notice of the ball, even when it was rolledright under her nose. 

"Well, I suppose what you want is your clockwork mouse, " said Philippa, "and that's your very best toy. But I shan't let you have it long, because I'm not going to spoil you ever any more. "

She wound up the little mouse, and let it run nimbly round and roundclose to the kitten. Formerly it had been a never-failing excitement, but now, to Philippa's surprise and vexation, Blanche sat perfectlyunmoved before it, and did not lift a paw. Perhaps during her shortvisit to the stable she had become acquainted with real mice, for aftergiving one slight sniff at the imitation one, she rose and walked awaywith a high and scornful step. 

"Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Philippa. She stood gazing at the kitten asthough she could hardly believe what she had seen, then turned and flungherself moodily into the window-seat. Everything at Haughton, even thekitten, was tiresome, and disagreeable, and dreadfully dull. 

"You're not a bit of comfort, " she said to Blanche, who was now mewingat the door to be let out, "and if they send you to the stable again, Ishan't fetch you back. I believe you're just fit for a low, meanstable-cat. So there!"

It was some relief to hurl this insult, but it hurt Philippa a greatdeal more than the cat, and her eyes filled with tears as she turned herhead and looked out into the garden. Here again the contrast toFieldside struck her. Broad gravelled terraces, flights of stone steps, masses of brilliant flower-beds; and beyond, the wide green spaces ofthe park, with its groups of trees all standing in exactly the rightplaces, well ordered, stately, correct, as though the very shrubs andplants had been trained to hold themselves with propriety. 

At Fieldside you could not look for a minute out of the schoolroomwindow without seeing something alive. Cows strolling across themeadow; Aunt Katharine's chickens venturing into the garden, and drivenout by Peter, cackling and shrieking; companies of busy starlingsworking away on the lawn; it was all lively and cheerful, though MrsTrevor always said it was "buried in the country. " Haughton Park wasconsidered a "beautiful place, " and Philippa was used to hearing itspoken of as such, but just now she decided in her own mind that it wasnot to be compared to Fieldside. As she sat gloomily gazing out of thewindow, her eye was caught by something which she had not noticedbefore, and which she began to observe with some interest. It wasnothing more remarkable than the figure of a boy in a ragged jacket, whoknelt on the garden path below, weeding. Philippa studied himattentively. 

He was small and thin, just about Dennis's age, and he was certainlypoor, for his clothes were old and shabby. Who was he? If he were aboy in the garden at Fieldside, she went on to reflect, Dennis andMaisie would know his name, and where he lived, and how many brothersand sisters he had, and what his father earned a week, and how long hehad left school. Why should she not make these inquiries, andafterwards, perhaps, she could give him some new clothes, and some moneyto buy sweets. Then he would be grateful, as Tuvvy was to Dennis, andbe willing to do all sorts of things for her. Suddenly, fired by thisresolve, she jumped off the window-seat, intent on running down into thegarden, when Miss Mervyn came into the room. 

"Well, my dear Philippa, " she said kindly, "have you enjoyed yourvisit?"

"Very much, " answered Philippa ungraciously. "I hate coming home. There's nothing to do. "

"Oh, come, " said Miss Mervyn, with an air of forced cheerfulness, "youmustn't say that, with all these things to amuse you. Have you wound upthe musical box?"

"I don't care for it, " said Philippa, with as much disdain as the kittenhad shown for the clockwork mouse. 

Miss Mervyn's glance fell upon Blanche, who was washing her facedelicately with the tip of one paw. 

"How pleased the kitten must have been to see you again!" she remarked. 

"You're just as wrong as you can be about that, " said Philippadecidedly. "She wasn't a bit pleased, and I believe she'd rather goback to the stable. "

"Well, to be sure, it _is_ the proper place for her, isn't it?" agreedMiss Mervyn, with a look of relief; "and I daresay she's really happierthere. "

"But, all the same, I don't mean to let her go, " added Philippa; "Ishall keep her with me more than ever, and teach her to be very fond ofme. "

"Where are you going, my dear? it is just tea-time, " asked Miss Mervyn, as Philippa left the room hurriedly after this remark. 

"Into the garden, " Philippa called back. "You needn't come, " and sheran down-stairs as fast as she could. Her mind was so set upon doinggood to the poor boy in the garden, that it did not once strike her thatthere was some one nearer home to whom she ought to be kind. Poor MissMervyn! How often Philippa worried her with her whims and naughtiness, and yet how patient and good she was! But that seemed natural toPhilippa. It would have been quite as strange for Miss Mervyn to becross and selfish, as for Blanche the kitten to be meek andwell-behaved. 

When Philippa reached the spot where the boy knelt, hard at work, shecame to a standstill, and hardly knew how to begin the conversation. Itwould have been easier if he had looked up, or seemed aware of herpresence; but his whole attention was so fixed on getting out the weedswith his knife, that he evidently had not heard her approach. 

"Good afternoon, little boy, " she began condescendingly at last. 

The boy raised a hot face, and touched his ragged cap. He was muchtaller and bigger than Philippa herself but it seemed right to her tocall him "little boy. "

"Who are you?" was her first question. "I've never seen you before. "

"I'm the new gardener's boy, miss, " he answered; "I ain't been herelong. "

Philippa looked down at him, wondering what she should say next. 

"Are you, " she began hesitatingly, after a moment's pause--"are you verypoor?"

The boy seemed a little puzzled. He sat back on his heels, and scrapedthe gravel thoughtfully from the blade of his knife. 

"We ain't near so bad off as some in Upwell, " he said at last; "but wecould do with a little more sometimes, now that Becky's so bad. "

"Oh, you live at Upwell, do you?" said Philippa; "and who is Becky, andwhy is she bad?"

"She's my sister, miss, " answered the boy, "and she's had a fall andhurted her back. She can't run about, and hasn't not for ever so long. It's very hard on Becky. She was always one to like running about. "

"Won't she ever get well?" asked Philippa, drawing a little nearer, andspeaking with real interest. 

"The doctor says she will, if so be she keeps quiet a bit longer, andhas lots of nourishing things, " replied the boy. 

"Why doesn't she have them, then?" asked Philippa. 

The boy cast down his eyes. "Well, you see, miss, up to now things hasbeen a bit orkerd. Father didn't always bring home much, and I was atschool. But that'll be different now, and I expect we'll get alongfine. "

At this moment Miss Mervyn appeared from the house. She carriedPhilippa's broad hat, a parasol, and a small knitted shawl, and camehastening up rather breathless. 

"My dear child, " she exclaimed, "no hat, nothing to shield you from thesun, and nothing over your shoulders! You will most certainly be ill!"She put the hat on Philippa's head, and the shawl round her neck, as shespoke. "Your tea is ready, " she continued, with a puzzled glance at theboy, who had fallen busily to work again. 

Philippa made no other answer than a sharp backward drive with herelbow, which nearly hit Miss Mervyn in the face as she stooped anxiouslyover her. Then she continued hurriedly to the boy:

"What's your name, and where do you live in Upwell? I mean to go andsee your sister, and take her some nourishing things. "

"Thank you, miss, " murmured the boy shyly; "my name's Dan Tuvvy, and welive at Number 10 Market Street. "

"Then, " said Philippa, "it's your father, I suppose, that works for MrSolace?"

Dan nodded. 

"And it was my cousin Dennis, " continued Philippa, with a superior air, "who was so very good to him, you know, and took so much trouble topersuade Mr Solace not to turn him away. You ought to be very grateful, you know, to my cousin Dennis. "

Dan, who had not once looked up since Miss Mervyn's appearance, nowseemed suddenly startled out of his shyness. He raised a face soglowing with pleasure and affection at the mention of Dennis's name, that he was almost like another boy. 

"Well, we are, miss, " he said earnestly, "just about--Becky, and me, andmother too, " he added, as an after-thought. "We'd do anything forMaster Dennis. And I'm pleased to hear, miss, as how you're his cousin, because p'r'aps you'll tell him so. "

His dark eyes brightened as he spoke, and his cheeks flushed. Philippa, surprised at the sudden change, stood looking at him silently for aminute. How fond every one is of Dennis! she thought. 

"I'll tell him what you say when I see him again, " she said; "and youmust remember to tell your sister that I'm coming to see her, and bringher some nourishing things. "

"Thank you, miss, " said Dan, dropping into his old shy manner again, ashe touched his cap and bent over his weeding. He did not seem overcomewith pleasure at the idea of Philippa's visit, and she felt a littledisappointed, but she had been interested in his talk; and as she wentback to the house with Miss Mervyn, her mind was so full of it, that shefelt obliged to tell her all about Tuvvy and Dennis, and her own plansfor Becky's benefit. Miss Mervyn listened attentively, and though shewas not equal to Maisie and Dennis as a companion, Philippa wassurprised to find how well she entered into the matter, and what goodsuggestions she could make. During tea-time, which passed much morepleasantly than usual, she found a great many questions to ask. 

"Why do you suppose Dan looked so very pleased when I talked aboutDennis?" she inquired. 

"I suppose because he is a grateful little boy, " answered Miss Mervyn. 

"Do people aways look like that when they are grateful?" said Philippa. "Will his sister look like that when I take her the nourishing things?"

"Perhaps she will, " said Miss Mervyn; "but, my dear Philippa, it is notonly giving people things that makes them grateful. "

"What does, then?" asked Philippa, with a stare of surprise. 

"Well, I think kindness and love make people more grateful than richgifts. Your cousin Dennis liked Tuvvy, and took a great deal of troublefor him. That was better than giving him a great deal of money. "

Philippa thought this over a little. 

"But, " she said at length, "I can't possibly like Dan's sister Beckyyet, you know, because I've never seen her. "

"Meanwhile, then, " said Miss Mervyn, "you can try to be grateful to allthe people you have seen and love, and who do so much for you every day. Perhaps if you see Becky, you will like her too, and then you will beso glad to make her happy, that you will not stop to think whether sheis grateful or not. "

"What should you think, " pursued Philippa, "are the most nourishingthings of all?"

Miss Mervyn bent her mind anxiously on the subject, and finally decidedin favour of milk, eggs, and beef-tea. 

"But, " objected Philippa, "they're all nasty, except eggs. Can't shehave something nice? Jelly and tarts, and roast chickens?"

"Suppose, " said Miss Mervyn, "we write out a list of things, and thenyou can show it to your mother this evening, and hear what she thinks. "

That seemed a good plan to Philippa, and she was soon so absorbed inwriting down desirable delicacies, that she would hardly consent to bedressed when the hour came for her to go to Mrs Trevor. Ready at last, she flew down-stairs in high spirits with the list in her hand, and atonce burst into the story, jumbling up Becky, Dennis, Dan, and Tuvvy thewheelwright in such a manner that her mother gazed at her distractedly. Philippa was too excited to make things very clear, but at last MrsTrevor gathered that for some reason or other she wished to go and seethe sister of the boy who worked in the garden. 

"And I want to take her these, " added Philippa, thrusting a longscrawled list before her mother's eyes. 

Mrs Trevor raised her eye-glasses and looked at it in despair. 

"Why, my darling?" she inquired feebly. 

"She's ill, " answered Philippa. "May Mrs Bunce pack them in a basket?"

"Certainly, you may send them to the little girl if you wish, my dear, and it's very sweet of you to think of it. But I couldn't let you gointo a dirty cottage and see sick people, you know. You might catch allsorts of complaints. "

And to this, in spite of Philippa's angry arguments, Mrs Trevor remainedfirm. It did not matter, she said, what Dennis and Maisie were allowedto do at Fieldside, or how many poor people they went to see there. Shedid not choose Philippa to have anything to do with sick people inUpwell, and she could not listen to any more on the subject. 

Philippa flew out of the room with her eyes full of tears, and her listcrumpled up in her hand, cast herself upon Miss Mervyn's neck, and toldher all this as well as she could for her sobs. 

Miss Mervyn listened with sympathy. 

"Did your mother say why she did not wish you to go?" she askedpresently. 

"Because, " said Philippa with difficulty, "she says I should catchcomplaints. Dennis and Maisie don't catch complaints. "

"Would you like me to go and hear what Mrs Trevor says?" suggested MissMervyn kindly. "Perhaps I could explain things to her better; but youmust promise to be good and patient if your mother does not alter hermind. "

"I promise, I promise, " said Philippa eagerly. "And if you willpersuade her, I will never, never be naughty again, and I will love youalways. "

Miss Mervyn shook her head rather sadly. "Don't promise too much, " shesaid, as she left the room. 

She had a difficult task before her, but she was so sincerely anxious tohelp Philippa, that she was at last able to put the matter before MrsTrevor in a way which overcame her objections. 

To begin with, it was a really good thing for Philippa to take aninterest in something outside herself. Already, since she had this planin her mind, she was more cheerful and contented. Then the little girlshe wished to see was not ill of any complaint which Philippa couldpossibly catch, but had only strained her back. Then it would be quitepossible to ascertain whether the Tuvvys were decent people, and theircottage fit for Philippa to enter. Miss Mervyn herself would go firstand observe everything carefully. And finally, the child had so set herheart on making this visit, that it would be unwise to oppose it unlessabsolutely necessary. At length, therefore, she returned to theschoolroom, where she found Philippa curled up disconsolately in thedepths of an armchair. 

"Well, " she exclaimed, springing up, "may I go?" Then as she saw MissMervyn smile, she flung her arms suddenly round her neck. "You'retremendously kind, " she said; "and now you'll see how good I'll bealways, and always, and always. "

Miss Mervyn smiled still more. "That's a very long time, my dearPhilippa, " she said; "but at any rate you know now what it is to feelgrateful, don't you? But you haven't thanked your mother yet. Rundown-stairs and tell her how pleased you are. "

Philippa's first impulse was, as usual, to refuse to do what she wastold, but this evening she felt quite a new wish to please Miss Mervyn, and obeyed silently. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

THE GREATEST COMFORT. 

"This _is_ a dull room!" exclaimed Philippa. 

She had just finished unpacking the basket of good things she hadbrought for Becky, and still knelt beside it, with various parcelsspread out round her on the floor. Miss Mervyn had left her at theTuvvys' cottage for a quarter of an hour, while she went to do someshopping in the town, and would call for her again in the pony-carriage, so that the two children were alone. They had been very silenthitherto, Philippa occupied with her unpacking, and Becky gazing at hermeanwhile with shy admiration. It was like looking at a pretty picture, she thought--only better, because it was real; and her dark eyesexamined her visitor's face and dress narrowly, while the kitten, alarmed at the entrance of a stranger, peeped out from the safe shelterof her arms. Neither she nor her mistress was accustomed to see suchfine drooping feathers as those in Philippa's hat, nor such a soft whitedress with lace frills. They seemed to make everything round them lookdingier and more shabby. Philippa herself however, was much too busy tonotice anything but the contents of her basket for some time. Shecontinued to pull out package after package, naming each as she laid iton the floor, "Arrowroot, eggs, sponge-cakes, " in a business-likemanner, until she reached the last. Then tossing back her long hair, she sat back on her heels, gave a searching look round the room, andwithout a moment's hesitation exclaimed: "This _is_ a dull room!"

Becky did not answer. Now that Philippa was there, it did look darkerand more dismal than usual somehow, and the ceiling blacker with smoke. 

"Do you lie here alone all day?" asked Philippa. "Don't you hate it?"

"'Tain't so bad as it used to be, " said Becky. 

"_I_ couldn't bear it, " remarked Philippa, after gazing at Becky for aminute with her mouth wide open. 

"Folks has _got_ to bear things, " said Becky. 

"_I_ don't bear things, " returned Philippa quickly; "I cry, and thenmother or some one gets me what I want. "

"If I was to cry ever so, mother wouldn't hear me, " said Becky, "becauseshe's out charing all day. Anyhow, she couldn't make my back well. DrPrice says as how nought but patience will do that, an' plenty to eat. "

"Well, you'll have some nourishing things now, won't you?" saidPhilippa, with a glance at the parcels, "and I hope they'll make youwell. And when you've eaten them all, I'm going to bring you somemore. "

"Thank you kindly, miss, " said Becky, but she did not look so verypleased as Philippa had hoped, and she began to think she was notperhaps a grateful little girl. What should she say next, she wondered, and just then her eye fell on the kitten, which had jumped down toexamine the parcels, and was patting them softly. 

"Oh, you've got a cat!" she exclaimed. "Not a very pretty one, is it?"

An affectionate light came into Becky's eyes as she looked at herkitten. 

"_I_ call it pretty, " she said; "but then I'm ever so fond of it, andit's fond of me too. "

"I've got a cat at home, " said Philippa, "a pretty white one calledBlanche, but I don't think she's fond of me, though I give her all sortsof things. How did you make yours fond of you?"

"I don't know, " said Becky. "I don't give her much, so 'tain't that. Sometimes she don't get much to eat for ever so long. I expect, though, she knows what a lot I think of her, and that's where it is!"

Philippa looked thoughtfully from the kitten to its mistress. 

"I don't believe, " she said, "that if I were to be ever so fond ofBlanche, she would care much for me. Everybody's cats seem nicer thanmine. "

"I can't think how I ever got on without this one, " said Becky. "She'sa loving little thing, and that funny in her ways! Often and oftenshe'll make me laugh with her tricks, even when my back's bad. She's areal comfort, like Dan said she would be--the greatest comfort I'vegot. "

The greatest comfort! The words made Philippa think of Maisie and hergrey kitten's loss. 

"Where did you get it?" she asked quickly. "Who gave it to you?"

"Dan found her stray in the streets, " said Becky. "A boy was going tobehave cruel to her, and Dan fought him, and brought her home to me. "

Philippa sprang to her feet. 

"Then I do believe, " she exclaimed, "that it's Maisie's grey kitten!"

Maisie's grey kitten! Becky clutched her pet closely, and looked upwith eyes full of terror. How could it be any one's kitten but hers?

"You know, " continued Philippa, much too excited by the discovery tothink of Becky's feelings, "Maisie Chester's my cousin, sister to Denniswho was so kind to your father. "

Becky nodded. 

"Well, their cat had three kittens--a black one, a white one, and a greyone. They kept the black one, and gave the white one to me on mybirthday, but the grey one got lost. It was sent to the tinsmith's inUpwell, and it ran away, so, of course, " ended Philippa, pointingtriumphantly at the small form in Becky's arms, "that's it. Won'tMaisie be glad! She always liked it the best, and she's always talkingabout it now. "

Before Becky could say a word, and, indeed, before she had got thedreadful fact into her mind that the kitten belonged to some one else, Miss Mervyn's entrance put a stop to any further explanation. She wasanxious for Philippa to come away at once, and Philippa herself, full ofher great discovery, was equally anxious to go, for she wanted to tellDennis and Maisie the news without delay. They had tried to find thekitten for such a long while, and now she had been clever enough to doit, all by herself!

Might they drive straight to Fieldside, she asked, instead of goinghome; and in her eagerness, and the bustle of departure, she almostforgot to say good-bye to Becky at all. Then the big empty basket wascarried out to the pony-carriage, Philippa's slim, white figure floatedafter it, there _was_ a clatter of wheels, the scramble of the pony'sfeet, and Becky was alone. 

Had it been a dream? Had Philippa really been there? What dreadfulthing had she said? Maisie's grey kitten! Could it, oh, could itreally be true? Perhaps it was a bad dream, after all. Becky glanceddown on the floor where Philippa had unpacked the basket. There, justas she had left them, were all the nice things she had brought. Eggs, cakes, jelly in a basin, neat packets of arrowroot--it was no dream. She had really been, and brought them all with her, but what were theycompared to what she would take away? What were all the good things inthe world, if the grey kitten were to be Becky's friend and playfellowno longer? How could she do without her?

Poor Becky threw herself back on her couch, and covered her face withher hands in despair. The kitten seeing this, thought her mistress wasgoing to take a nap, and at once settled herself in her usual place, with her paws planted on Becky's chest, and her green eyes lazilyblinking into her face. They had passed many an hour together in thisposition, but to-day the kitten noticed something strange, for presentlyone shining tear and then another crept slowly between her mistress'sclosed fingers. This was some new game or joke, and she at once beganto join in it, by patting at them softly, taking care not to put out herclaws, and purring to show her satisfaction. What was her surprise whenBecky suddenly caught her tightly to her breast, and bursting intoheart-broken tears, exclaimed:

"Oh Kitty, Kitty, my own Kitty! Whatever shall I do?"

This was certainly most puzzling, and so unlike anything in the kitten'sexperience, that she could not make out what part her mistress wishedher to play. She got out of the difficulty at last by going snugly tosleep, and presently, worn out by grief and crying, Becky was quiet too, and began to take comfort in the thought that she should soon be able totell Dan all about it. He had often helped her out of troubles before, and perhaps he would think of some way now. 

She lay with her eyes fixed patiently on the door, waiting for him toappear; but she knew before that happened the door would open twice, once for Mrs Tuvvy, and once for her father, who both got home earlier. Becky had seen the same things so often from her dim corner, that shecould have described them with her eyes shut, and it was all just thesame this afternoon. A heavy, flat-footed step, and Mrs Tuvvy enteredwith a tired, ill-used look on her face, cast off her shawl, untied thestrings of her bonnet, and tipped it forward on her head. Becky wouldhardly have known her mother without her bonnet, for she wore it indoorsand out. Then, talking all the time in a high, drawling voice, sheproceeded to get the evening meal ready. If it were early in the week, there would be something savoury to cook, which she had brought homewith her; or, perhaps, only a small piece of cold pork for Tuvvy'sspecial benefit. To-night there were some slices of ham to broil, andthe room was soon full of the sound and smell of her preparations. 

The door opened again, and Tuvvy himself swung in, with a nod and asmile, and "How's yourself, Becky?" In times not long gone by Tuvvy hadbeen used to enter in a very different manner, but he always came insteadily now, and sat down hungrily to his meals, however scanty theymight be. Last of all, Dan, rosy-faced and cheerful, burst into theroom; and then supper began, with a great clatter of knives and forks. Becky could not eat to-night, for she had far too much on her mind, butshe knew it would be quite impossible to say anything until the meal wasover. It seemed to last a long, long time, but at length Tuvvy gave hischair a little push back from the table, took his pipe and an oldnewspaper from his pocket, and settled himself to read. Mrs Tuvvypulled herself out of her seat with a weary sigh, and began to journeybackward and forwards with the empty dishes to the back kitchen. Nowwas the time. 

"Dan, " said Becky, "come here; I've got summat to tell yer. "

Dan left off unlacing his boots, and at once went to his sister's side, but poor Becky's heart was so big with her sad story, that it was sometime before she could make it plain to him. When he did understand it, he sat silent for a long while, with his lips pursed up, as though hewere whistling. 

"Say summat, Dan, " cried Becky, in an agony at last. 

"If so be, " began Dan slowly, "as how it's Miss Maisie's kitten, 'tain'tours. "

The kitten had finished its supper, and stretched itself out to sleep, just under Becky's chin. She gazed at her brother over its back, asthough he were Fate itself, but said nothing. 

"And we allers said, " he went on, "as how we was very grateful to MasterDennis alonger of what he did for father. "

Becky nodded. She knew that. It had made part of her day-dreams formonths past. 

"But there didn't seem any way to show it, because they're so rich andwe're poor. " Becky trembled at what was coming, as Dan went on in aneven voice, very low, so as not to disturb his father. "And now we'vegot a thing to give. Course if I hadn't fought for it, and you hadn'ttook care on it, 'twouldn't a been alive now at all. So we'll give itto 'em cheerful, and be glad to do it. "

This was poor comfort. 

"Oh, I don't want to give it up, " cried Becky. "I ain't glad to let itgo. I'm that fond of it. "

"Miss Maisie, she was fond of it too, wasn't she?" said Dan. 

Becky nodded. "She loved it best of the three, Miss Trevor said. Butshe's got another cat, and I've got ne'er a one but this. "

"Maybe, " said Dan doubtfully, "I could get yer another you'd like aswell in time. "

Becky's only answer was to kiss the kitten fervently and shake her head. 

Dan took hold of his head with both hands, and thought hard for aminute. Then he looked up and said, "There's two things, but youmustn't build on 'em. " Becky's eyes showed a faint gleam of hope. "First, " said Dan, holding up one finger, "it may not be it. There'smore nor one grey kitten lost in Upwell. And second, " holding up two, "if it is hers, she may let you keep it. You see she had given it awayonce. "

How wise Dan was! Becky began to feel a little better. 

"You mustn't build on 'em, " said Dan, as he bent down to unlace hisboots; "and if you have to give it up, you must think how pleasedthey'll be to have it, and do it cheerful. "

There are few things easier than to tell others what is right to do, andfew things harder than to do right one's self in some cases. PerhapsDan did not understand all that the loss of the kitten would mean toBecky, when he spoke of giving it up "cheerful. " He was fond of hissister, and sorry for her; but he had many things to enjoy in his activehard-working life, and it was natural he should sometimes forget howhard it must be to lie all day long in one dull room, to be often inpain, and to have nothing but a grey kitten to cheer and comfort one. It did not seem such a mighty matter to him to give it up, but to Beckyit would be a sacrifice of her one joy and pleasure. If it must go, itmust; but as to giving it up "cheerful, " that she could never, never do. She loved it far too well. All that evening, and before she went tosleep at night, she could not hinder her mind from dwelling on the twochances Dan had mentioned. Oh, if one of them should turn out to betrue! In the middle of the night, she woke with a start from a dream inwhich the kitten had been taken from her. She put out her hand to feelfor it, and when her fingers touched the soft furry form curled upoutside her bed, she could not help crying half with relief and half tothink that the time might come when she should feel for it, and it wouldnot be there. 

Now all this sad trouble might have been spared, if Philippa had been alittle more thoughtful. She was not an unkind little girl, but she wasso entirely unused to considering other people's feelings, that it didnot occur to her to imagine the effect of her words on Becky, or to say, "Of course Maisie will let you keep the kitten. " That would havealtered everything; but as it was, she was so full of her own clevernessat the discovery, that she talked of nothing else all the way toFieldside, and seemed for the moment to have forgotten Becky and all shehad meant to do for her. 

It was a long way to drive round by Fieldside, and Miss Mervyn was notvery willing to go, for it was getting late. "You must promise me, mydear Philippa, " she said, "not to stay more than a few minutes if Iallow you to go in, and I will wait for you in the pony-carriage. "

Philippa promised readily, and arrived at the house, lost no time inmaking her way to the field, where she was told she should find Dennisand Maisie. At first she could see nothing of them; but presently, upin the corner where the cowhouse, haystack, and poultry-yard stood, shemade out two busy figures in white aprons, deeply engaged withpaint-brushes and pots of scarlet paint. 

"Whatever are they doing?" she said to herself. 

They were painting the jackdaws' house, and were that moment asperfectly happy as two children could be. Aunt Katharine had given fullpermission, two immense white aprons, and a liberal supply of paint, which last they were using freely, not only on the jackdaws' house, buton their own persons. Maisie in particular, who _would_ take too muchon her brush at a time, had splashed and sprinkled herself all over, even to the tip of her small round nose; so that she looked like a funnylittle clown squatting on the grass. Even the dog Peter, hunting ratsunder the haystack near, his agitated hind-legs only just visible, borea scarlet patch of paint on one toe. 

"Well!" exclaimed Philippa, when she had got close to them without beingseen, "you are making a mess!"

"Why, it's Philippa!" exclaimed Maisie, throwing down her brush, andscrambling up from the ground; "but we mustn't go near you, " she added, stopping short, "or you'll get all over paint. "

"Isn't it jolly?" said Dennis. "Come round here and look at the bit I'mdoing. "

"No, thank you, " said Philippa primly; "I haven't come to stay. MissMervyn's waiting in the pony-carriage. I've only come to say, " with apause, "that I've found your grey kitten. "

"So have we, " said Dennis coolly; "at least we think we know where itis. "

Philippa's face fell. "Where?" she asked. 

"We don't _really_ know, " said Maisie hastily, "only Dr Price saw a greykitten at Tuvvy's house in Upwell, and Aunt Katharine says I may goto-morrow and see if it's ours. "

"And I don't believe you'll know whether it is or not, " said Dennis. 

Philippa turned away sulkily. She was thoroughly disappointed to haveher news received in this way. 

"Oh well, then, " she said, "you don't want to hear what I know about it, and I am sorry I came round all this way to tell you. Good-bye. "

"Oh, stop! stop!" cried Maisie. "Wait for me. I want to hear verymuch; I'll go with you to the gate. Do stop a minute. "

She struggled frantically as she spoke with the string of her apron, which was tied securely round her neck, and her voice was so pleading, that Philippa was softened. She was still cross with Dennis, whopainted away, and did not care a bit; but it was difficult to be angrywith Maisie, and when the apron was at last torn off, the two littlegirls ran across the field together towards the house. 

Philippa's story turned out to be so very satisfactory and interesting. It seemed to clear away all doubt as to the whereabouts of the greykitten. Maisie's eager questions and exclamations of pleasure were morethan enough to satisfy her and make her feel quite good-tempered again. 

"Did it seem happy?" inquired Maisie, as they drew near the gate. "Doyou think it's got a good home?"

"Becky said, " replied Philippa, "that it did not get much to eatsometimes, and it's a very ugly little house they live in; but she'svery fond of it, and it's fond of her too. "

"Then I expect it's all right, " said Maisie; "it was always a dearlittle contented thing. "

"She said it was her greatest comfort, " added Philippa. "Wasn't it oddshe should say that? It made me think of you and wonder if it wasyours, and so I came straight off to tell you after I heard it was astray kitten. "

"Won't you come with me to-morrow?" asked Maisie. "You see you knowBecky now, and I've never seen her. "

Philippa quite approved of this. She would ask Miss Mervyn to bring herhalf-way to meet Maisie, and they would make the visit together. 

"And I daresay Dennis will come too, if he's done painting, " saidMaisie. 

"That doesn't matter at all, " said Philippa, as she drove away with MissMervyn. 

The next morning Maisie at Fieldside and Becky at Upwell woke upthinking of the same thing--the grey kitten--but with very differentfeelings. Maisie was delighted at the idea of meeting it again, andBecky was full of sorrow to think that she might have to say good-bye toit for ever. After her parents and Dan had all started out to theirwork, and left her alone with the kitten as usual, she thought it allseriously over, and made one firm resolve--she would not cry. If togive it up cheerful was impossible, she would at least prevent her grieffrom being seen. It might be hard, but it must be done, because, as Danhad said, Dennis and Maisie had been so good to them. "I'll shut myteeth tight, " determined Becky, "and they shan't ever know I want tocry. Then, after they're gone, I can cry as much as I like. "

With a sigh she proceeded to get the kitten ready for the visit, bybrushing its coat carefully and smoothing it down with a duster. It hadnot very thick fur, but it was glossy and well-kept, and it was so usedto kind treatment that it bore itself with confidence, like a cat with agood home. If there were nothing striking or handsome in itsappearance, there was at least nothing slinking or miserable about it, and to Becky, who looked at it with the eyes of affection, it had everyattraction a cat could possess. 

"And now you're as ready as you can be, " she said wistfully; "a collaror a bit o' ribbon would finish yer off, but I ain't got ne'er a one. Miss Maisie she'll have lots o' ribbons, and nicer things a deal for youto eat than I can give you, but she can't love you better. Maybe you'dbe happier, but oh Kitty, Kitty, I hope you ain't her cat. I want tokeep you, I _do_. "

There was a knock at the door. "Come in, " said Becky in a tremblingvoice, and both she and the kitten turned their eyes towards it in afrightened manner as it opened. 

Philippa appeared first, stepping daintily forward with a swing of herelegant skirts, and for a moment Becky thought she was alone. But no, there was another little girl behind her, with rosy cheeks and verybright brown eyes. She came in shyly, and yet she looked very eager, and her gaze was fastened immediately on the kitten in Becky's arms. 

"It's Miss Maisie, " thought Becky, her grasp unconsciously tightening onits back. 

"This, " said Philippa, waving her hand grandly, "is my cousin, MissMaisie Chester, and--" turning to Maisie--"this is Becky, and that's thekitten. "

"How do you do?" said Maisie holding out her hand; "I hope you'rebetter. "

It was such a very kind little round face that approached that Beckycould not feel afraid. She put out her hand and whispered, "Yes, thankyou. "

"Philippa says, " continued Maisie, still with her eyes fixed on thekitten, "that you've found a stray kitten. And we lost a kitten--a greyone--in Upwell, and Aunt Katharine said I might come and see if this isit. "

Face to face with the kitten at last, Maisie began to lose confidence inher memory. After all, it was a long time since she had seen it, andthere were a great many grey cats in the world, and Dennis had alwaysdeclared that it would be impossible to know it again. Her serious gazerested on the kitten, Becky's on her face, and Philippa waitedimpatiently in the background for the decision. 

"Well, " she said at last; "is it it, or isn't it?"

"The thing is, " began Maisie, "has it one white paw?"

Alas for Becky! She knew it had, only too well. Lifting it a littleaway from her, there was the fatal white paw plainly visible to Maisie'ssearching glance. 

"And then, " she continued, having observed this with a grave nod, "hasit very nice little coaxing affectionate ways?"

Becky nodded with a full heart. She could not trust herself to speak. 

"Does it purr much?" pursued Maisie. "_More_ than other cats?"

Again Becky nodded. She had clenched her teeth long ago, but she beganto be afraid that nothing would prevent her crying. 

"May I have it in my arms?" asked Maisie. 

She took it gently on to her knee, but the kitten had quite forgottenits babyhood, and thinking her an utter stranger, soon wriggled back toits mistress. 

"It doesn't remember me, " said Maisie rather sadly, "and yet I nursed itso very often. "

"It _is_ yours, then?" said Philippa. 

"Yes, " said Maisie. "I really and truly do believe it is, and I'm veryglad. "

She glanced at Becky as she spoke, and to her surprise saw that her eyeswere full of tears. 

"What's the matter?" she asked; "does your back hurt you?"

Becky shook her head. "'Tain't that, " she managed to whisper. "I meantnot to cry, but I don't seem able to keep it back. "

She stopped and struggled with her tears, tore away the kitten, whichclung to her with its little claws, and almost threw it into Maisie'slap. 

"You're welcome to it, " she sobbed out, "and you'll treat it kind. "

At this rough usage the kitten gave a tiny mew of complaint, and Maisieherself was quite as much disturbed. She looked round at Philippa forhelp, stroked the kitten nervously, and stammered: "But it isn't mineany longer--I gave it away; didn't you know?"

"I told her all about it, " said Philippa. "I told her it was given tothe tinsmith's wife. "

"And, of course, you said we shouldn't take it away?" said Maisie. 

"Well, no, " said Philippa, looking a little ashamed, as she rememberedher hasty departure; "I didn't tell her that. I thought she would knowit. "

Maisie put the kitten gently back into Becky's arms. 

"Don't be unhappy, " she said. "Of course I'd much rather it stayed withyou than with old Sally's Eliza; and I am sure she won't mind, because, you see, she hardly knew it before it ran away. And we couldn't have itat Fieldside, because we mustn't keep more than two cats, and we've gotMadam and Darkie. And I don't want it either, because now I know it'shappy and comfortable, I don't mind any longer. "

Becky found it almost as hard not to cry now as it had been before, therelief was so great; but she managed to whisper some earnest thanks, asshe clasped her pet closely to her. 

"I hope it will always be a comfort to you, " said Maisie, as thechildren said good-bye. "I always said it would grow up a nice littlecomforting cat, though it was never so pretty as the others. And now, "she remarked to Philippa as they drove home, "the kittens are settled. They've each got a good home, and we know which has grown up thegreatest comfort. "

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM. 

Summer, which had seemed very long in coming to Dennis and Maisie, hadat last made up its mind, and was really here, bringing all its bestpleasures and most beautiful things to look at and enjoy. It was reallyhot weather, so that it was possible almost to live out of doors, and tohave tea in the garden as a matter of course. Hot enough always to wearcotton frocks and holland suits, and sun-bonnets and broad straw hats, to do very few lessons, and to be out quite late in the evening. Theroses were in bloom, the fields smelt sweet with new-mown hay, thestrawberries were ripe: it was glorious June weather. 

But at Upwell, though it was quite as hot, it was not by any means sobeautiful. There the narrow dusty streets were stifling; the sun'sfierce rays beat down on the houses all day, and when night came, itbrought no coolness or relief, and there seemed no air to breathe. Itwas not so bad for the people who could get away from the town whentheir work was done, into the fields and lanes for a while; but therewere some who were old or sick and could not move, and amongst these waspoor Becky. She got thinner and whiter and weaker as the hot daysfollowed each other, and though she was very patient, and always readyto say, "Better, thank you, " with a smile, when her visitors asked howshe was, she did not really feel better at all. 

But though this was the case, she was not unhappy, and the days wereseldom long and weary as they used to be, for she now had three friendswho paid her constant visits--Philippa, Maisie, and Dennis. To expecttheir coming, to think of all they had said, and how they had looked, were such new pleasures that Becky was now more than contented with herlot. Some day she was going to get well, and run about again, andperhaps dance to the organ in the street; meanwhile she had her kitten, and she had her friends; it was all much better than it used to be. Amongst the three, she perhaps looked forward the least to seeingPhilippa, who never came without an offering of some kind--apicture-book, or something nice to eat. Philippa tried hard to please, but there was always a little condescension in her manner, from whichher cousins were quite free. 

Maisie and Dennis seldom brought any present but a bunch of flowers, ora few strawberries, yet they seemed to leave behind them many otherpleasant things to think of, which lasted until they came again. SoBecky, in spite of aches and pains, thought herself very lucky just now, and would indeed have been surprised to know that there were stillluckier days waiting for her not very far off. 

For, meeting Dr Price in Upwell one day, Aunt Katharine stopped to speakto him, and asked what he thought of Becky, and whether she would soonget stronger. Dr Price shook his head. 

"I can't do much more for her, " he said, "all the while she has to stopin that stuffy room and get no fresh air. She ought to be out all daythis weather. A month in the country would give her a chance. "

A month in the country! Aunt Katharine drove home full of thought, andinstead of stopping at Fieldside, went straight on to the Manor Farm. Could Mrs Solace tell her, she asked, after describing Becky's conditionin a moving manner, of any suitable place in the village where the childcould be lodged for a while? Now, if Mrs Solace had a weakness, it wasto nurse and pet up anything ailing or delicate, and restore it tohealth. She did wonders with weakly chickens, invalid cows, and othercreatures on the farm requiring care and comfort. 

"Why shouldn't the child come here, Miss Chester?" she asked at once. 

"Well, of course, " replied Aunt Katharine, inwardly rejoiced at hersuccess, "if you don't mind the trouble--"

No trouble at all, Mrs Solace declared, with her large beaming smile. There would be new milk for her, and fresh air, and the garden to sitin, and the beasts to amuse her; and she'd be better off than anywherein the village. As to Andrew--certainly there had been a time whenAndrew wouldn't have wished to encourage the Tuvvys, but that was overand done with. Tuvvy was as steady as you please now, and a valuableworkman, and they'd be pleased to do anything for his child. BeforeAunt Katharine left, the very hour and day of Becky's arrival werefixed. She was to come back in one of Mr Solace's wagons, which had tocarry a load to Upwell station. 

"She'll travel easiest so, " said Mrs Solace, "because she can lie flat;and there's a tilt to the cart, so she'll be well shaded from the sun. "

In this way, a few days later, Becky performed the journey betweenUpwell and Fieldside, not without a little fear and trembling at goingso far into the wide world. When the moment came, it was hard to leavethe dim room, the uneasy couch, the things she knew so well; and thelook of the bright sunshine outside dazzled her unaccustomed eyes andmade her blink. She had, however, two great comforts. Dan had begged aday's holiday that he might see her safely to the Manor Farm, and MrsSolace had invited the grey kitten to come also. With these two friendsto support her, Becky felt some courage, and after all, although she didnot know Mr or Mrs Solace, there would be father at work quite near, andvisits from the children at Fieldside. 

Mr Solace's big wagon seemed to fill Market Street. The four iron-greyhorses tossed all their gleaming brass medals with a jingling sound, asthey stamped impatiently at the flies and gnats. 

"We'll not have a heavy load home along, anyway, " said George thecarter, as he lifted Becky and her little bundle carefully on to themattress in the wagon, "and you'll ride like a queen. "

When she was comfortably settled, with Dan by her side holding thekitten in a hamper, the journey began. Not a hurried or discomposingone, for the grey horses, knowing that there was plenty of time beforethem, never changed their pace from a stately walk the whole way. Sothe wagon rolled majestically along through the noisy streets, out intothe quiet open country, and carried Becky towards new scenes and freshfaces. The children at Fieldside had entreated permission to go andreceive her on her arrival, but this Aunt Katharine would not allow. 

"She will be tired, and perhaps rather shy at coming amongst strangers, "she said; "the fewer people she sees at first the better. Leave her toMrs Solace. "

So Dennis and Maisie had to content themselves with seeing the wagonpass through the village, and knowing that Becky was in it. The nextday Tuvvy stopped on his way home to say that she was not much tired, and doing finely, and Mrs Solace would be glad if Miss Maisie and MasterDennis would call in to see her. It was most provoking after this, thatquite suddenly, following weeks of fine bright weather, the rain began, and would not leave off. Day after day one steady downpour: streamingwindow-panes, great puddles in the garden paths, grey sky, and wet greenleaves. 

"_Isn't_ it unlucky for Becky?" said Maisie, looking out of theplay-room window at the dreary dripping scene. "She won't be able to goout at all. "

"It's unlucky for every one, " answered Dennis. "Mr Solace doesn't wantrain with nearly all his hay down. "

Maisie's eyes were fixed on the grass-plot beneath the window, where acompany of starlings were busily engaged digging for worms and grubs. 

"It isn't unlucky for quite every one, " she remarked; "the birds likeit. "

"But the worms don't, " added Dennis quickly. 

Maisie was silent. She had a tender heart, but she disliked worms verymuch, and was always filled with disgust and fear when she dug them upin her little garden. She could not feel quite so sorry for them as shedid for other things in trouble. 

"There's one good thing, " resumed Dennis, after a little silence, "it_can't_ go on raining much longer, because of Mrs Solace's strawberryparty. It's certain to clear up in time for that. "

Maisie agreed. "But, " she added with a sigh, "that's a whole week off, and I do so want to see how Becky and the kitten are getting on. "

Mrs Solace's strawberry party was a yearly entertainment which shealways gave in June, just when the strawberries were ripe, and thechildren considered it the very best party in the summer. Others mightbe grander: at the vicarage, for instance, there was always a band, andat the Broadbents' there were glee-singers and ices; but when allattractions had been counted up, the Manor Farm still remained the placewhich pleased them most. Every one went to Mrs Solace's party, and cameaway with a feeling that they had spent a pleasant time. The vicar andhis sister never missed it; Aunt Katharine and the children, theBroadbents, and others owning farms near Fieldside--even Dr Price, whowas shy of gatherings in general--all met and talked to each other withsmiling faces in the pretty old garden at the Manor Farm. Tea, withheaped-up dishes of strawberries, and a plentiful supply of cream, stoodready on little tables under the veranda, so that people could helpthemselves when and how they liked. Nothing could be more simple thanMrs Solace's preparations, and yet her party was always successful. Sheasked every one, paying no attention at all to family quarrels or theniceties of social position amongst the neighbouring farmers, and yetthere were no haughty looks. Even the Broadbents, who were alwaysprepared to be a little superior to every one, laid aside their elegantexclusiveness, and descended to the common ground of unaffectedgood-nature and enjoyment. 

Perhaps one of the great reasons that made the party so pleasant was, that you might, as Dennis had said, always count on having a fine day. However wet or dull or cold it had been, the weather was sure to clear, and the sun to shine, for Mrs Solace, just on that special occasion, sothat the children had grown to expect it as a matter of course. And yetanother reason lay in the simple kindliness and good-will of Mrs Solaceherself. The genial warmth of her welcome spread itself abroad andinfluenced her guests, much as the bountiful rays of the sun turned allthe flowers and fruit to colour and sweetness in her garden. Sourlooks, stiff manners, and peevish remarks seemed out of place, and asimpossible on that day as cold winds, a cloudy sky, or unripestrawberries. 

Mrs Solace had her usual luck this year: by the time the day of theparty came, the rain was over and gone, and the sun was shining sobrightly, that clouds and greyness were quite forgotten. 

Philippa had come over from Haughton to go with her cousins; and thechildren, who always thought Aunt Katharine started much too late, begged that they might walk over earlier alone. 

"We want to have a good long time with Becky, you see, " said Maisie;"and we shan't be in any one's way. "

When they arrived, therefore, at the door in the long grey wall whichskirted the Manor Farm garden, they felt sure they were the very firstguests, and walked slowly towards the house, expecting to meet Becky atevery turn; for after a whole week at the farm, she surely ought to berunning about as if there were nothing the matter with her!

But there was no Becky, nor any one else to be seen in the garden. Theflowers and the bees had it all to themselves, and were blooming andbuzzing away as happily as possible, with no one to notice them. Afterthe rain, all the blossoms looked as bright and fresh as though they hadjust put on new clothes to do honour to Mrs Solace's party; and, indeed, they always seemed to enjoy their lives, and to bloom more abundantlyhere than anywhere else. 

Aunt Katharine was proud of her garden, and took a great deal of painsto make her flowers do well; but with all her best efforts, they did notflourish like these, and yet there was so little trouble taken aboutthem. They grew very much how they would and where they would. Whenthey got too thick, they were weeded out; and when one sort died, it wasrenewed in exactly the same place year after year. Some which were leftentirely to their own way, like the snapdragons, seemed to thrive bestof all. These thrust themselves into the crevices of the old wall, waved in triumph along the top of it, and had sown themselvesindustriously at the sides of the garden paths, reaching out theirvelvety, glowing mouths from the most unexpected places, for thedusty-legged humble bees to dive into. 

Certainly the bees had a fine time of it in the Manor garden, and plentyof sweetness to choose from, amongst the herbs, roses, and pinks whichwere mixed up together with the vegetables. These were separated by awall from the lawn and flower-garden, and when the farmhouse came inview, the children saw that they were not the first visitors after all, for there were figures moving about under the deep veranda, and soonthey were able to make out Becky sitting in a big wicker-chair with acushion at her back. 

"And she's got on my pink sun-bonnet that Aunt Katharine sent her, " saidMaisie. 

All the way along they had been talking of Becky, and felt that they hada great deal to ask her about her journey, and what she thought of theManor Farm; but now that they were here, and had shaken hands with her, a sudden silence fell on them all. Somehow Becky in her newsurroundings struck them as a sort of stranger, and they stood roundher, looking shyly at each other, without finding anything to say. Thisdid not suit Philippa. 

"Come and show me where the strawberry beds are, " she said to Dennis, and when they had run away together, Maisie drew up a chair and sat downby Becky's side. 

"How do you like being here?" she asked. 

Becky had a faint tinge of colour in her face now, like a China rosewashed in the rain; her dark eyes looked brighter, and when she smiled, something that would soon be a dimple showed in her cheek. 

"Very well, thank you, " she answered. "I can walk a bit now. Thismorning I walked as far as yonder rose-bush, and to-morrow I'm goin' totry and get up to the big tree. "

"Very well" might have sounded faint praise for the Manor Farm tounaccustomed ears; but Maisie knew that the country-people used the termto express the very highest satisfaction, so she was quite content. 

From their snug corner under the shady veranda, the children watched thearrival of the guests, as they came out of the house in twos and threes, and moved into the bright sunshine on the lawn. 

"It's like looking at a peep-show or a magic-lantern, " said Maisie;"we're in the shadow and they're in the light. Now I'll tell you whothey are. Here's Mrs Broadbent and Emmeline and Lilian. "

Mrs Broadbent and her two daughters stopped on their way to make manyexcuses for the absence of Mr Broadbent. 

"He's such a one, Mr Solace, for sticking to his work; isn't he, girls?I said this morning, `Now do take a little rest, papa, this afternoon, and leave things to your bailiff for once. ' But no. `The master'seye, ' he says, `does more work than both his hands. '"

"Well, he's in the right there, " said Mr Solace good-humouredly. 

"That's little Miss Chester, isn't it?" she went on, her sharp eyecatching sight of the children, "and her cousin, Miss Trevor? Howdelicate she looks, poor child!" She nodded and smiled graciously. 

"No, that's not Miss Trevor, " replied Mr Solace; "that's mywheelwright's little girl. She's been ill, and she's stopping here forchange of air. My wife's going to nurse her up a bit. "

"So _odd_!" remarked Mrs Broadbent, as she and her daughters moved oninto the garden. "I really do think Mrs Solace might draw the line_somewhere_. "

"There's Mr Hurst, " continued Maisie; "he's our vicar, you know; and thelittle lady with white hair and a big hat is his sister, who lives withhim. And he's talking to your doctor, Dr Price. I wish he was ourdoctor, but we're never ill, so it doesn't matter much. I like DrPrice, ever since he told me about the kitten, only I wish he wouldn'tkeep such cruel dogs. Where _is_ the kitten? Didn't you bring her?"

There was a little lump on Becky's knees covered up by her pinafore. She lifted a corner of it, and showed the grey kitten snugly asleep, curled up like a ball. 

"I was afraid so many strange folk would scare her, " she said. 

The garden was soon full of the sound of voices and laughter, and alivewith many-coloured figures. Preparations for tea began to appear in theveranda, and presently Dennis and Philippa came slowly back with heatedfaces, each bearing a cabbage-leaf full of strawberries. 

"Philippa will say that they have bigger ones at Haughton, " said Dennis;"so I was determined to find the very biggest I could. Now just lookhere, Philippa!" He spread out his cabbage-leaf exultingly. "The ManorFarm's _famous_ for its strawberries; there's nothing like them formiles round. Yours at Haughton are all very well, but the very largestwould be squinny beside these. "

Philippa had plenty to say on the subject as usual, and she carried on alively dispute with Dennis as to the merits of the strawberries, untilthe children's tea was brought out, and placed on a little table all tothemselves. 

During their meal, they could watch the other guests, who came in andout from the garden to rest from the glare of the sun, or to taste thestrawberries and cream and other good things provided for them. Theyall talked and laughed a great deal, and their talk was almost entirelyabout strawberries and cream. One preferred strawberries alone; anotherconsidered cream such a great improvement; a third found the mixtureunwholesome, but the fruit alone, beneficial. Lilian Broadbentsauntered in, very much overcome with the heat, and threw herselflanguidly into the wicker-chair which an attentive young farmer hastenedto bring. 

"That is the one they want her to marry, " whispered Dennis, who knewevery one's affairs. 

Would she have some strawberries? With or without cream? Did she takesugar? Would she have them prepared for her? After a careless assenthad been given to all these questions, Miss Broadbent thought that onthe whole strawberries tasted better picked for one's self, only thevery thought of stooping in the sun made her head ache. While heradmirer suggested ways of overcoming this difficulty, Aunt Katharine andMr Solace came in, and talked gravely of crops, and then the portlyfigures of Mrs Solace and Dr Price approached, and stopped to look atthe little party of children. 

"Your patient does you credit, Mrs Solace, " said the doctor. "She looksbetter already. She'll soon be out of my hands, if she goes on at thisrate. "

Mrs Solace smiled at Becky with the same sort of comfortable pride aswhen she looked at a remarkably fine brood of turkeys. 

"She's picking up a bit, " she said; "but it's early days yet. We'll seehow she looks after she's been here a month. I shouldn't wonder if shegets as hearty as Miss Maisie yonder. --Have you told Miss Maisie, Becky, what we're going to make of you, when you get quite strong and well?"

Becky looked shyly down at her plate. It was impossible to answer withso many people waiting to hear. 

"Well, well, she'll tell you presently, I daresay, " said Mrs Solace, asshe moved away with Dr Price's huge figure plunging along beside her. 

"What did Mrs Solace mean?" asked Maisie eagerly, when they were out ofhearing. 

"It's about the chickens, " said Becky. "I like 'em ever so much, andMrs Solace said this morning that some day she'd ask mother to let mecome and bide here and look after 'em; but I've got to get strong, andgrow a bit first. "

"Well!" exclaimed Dennis enviously, "you _are_ in luck!"

"I should earn wages, like Dan, " said Becky. 

"I only wish I had the chance of working on the farm, " said Dennis; "butAunt Katharine says I must go to school, and all sorts of things, first. "

"What would you like to be, if you could?" asked Philippa. 

Dennis mashed up his strawberries thoughtfully. 

"Wheelwright _best_, " he answered; "only that wouldn't have anything todo with the animals. I should like to be the pig-man very well; butit's no use saying what I should like, because I shan't have thechance. "

"How nice it will be, " said Maisie to Becky, as she set a saucer ofcream carefully on the ground for the kitten, "when you and the greykitten are settled here. Isn't it odd that she should have the verybest home of the three, after all? We never thought it would turn outso. "

"And she was the meanest and smallest of all the kittens, " said Dennis. 

"But, " added Maisie, "Philippa and I have quite settled that she's thenicest of them, because she's been the greatest comfort. "

And now, while the sun shines, and there are happy voices and smiles allaround, it is a good moment for us to say farewell to Dennis and Maisie, Philippa and Becky, and to wish them prosperity. We have seen a littlepart of their lives, and can only guess what shall befall them further;but we know that life cannot be all sunshine and strawberry parties, andthat grey skies and dull moments will come to each as time goes on. Thebest thing we can wish for them, therefore, is that they may be happywhether the sun shines or the rain falls in their way through the world:and this they can surely be, if their hearts are warm and their handsare willing to love and serve others, both in sadness and joy. 

THE END.