“Poor puss!” said Ruth stroking it tenderly.
The cat replied by pushing its head gently against her arm, and presently began a low purring song. Delighted, Ruth bent her ear to listen.
“Whoosh! Shish! Get along! Scat!” suddenly sounded from a few steps below. Nurse’s umbrella was violently flourished, the cat flew downstairs with a spit like an angry firework, and Ruth turned round indignantly.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, stamping her foot; “I wanted to talk to it. Whose is it?”
“It’s that nasty kitchen cat,” said Nurse, much excited, and grasping her umbrella spitefully. “I’m not going to have it prowling about on my landing. An ugly thieving thing, as has no business above stairs at all.”
Ruth pressed her face against the balusters. In the distance below she could see the small grey form of the kitchen cat making its way swiftly and silently downstairs. It went so fast that it seemed to float rather than to run, and was soon out of sight.
“I should like to have played with it up in the nursery,” she said, with a sigh, as she continued her way. “I wish you hadn’t frightened it away.”
“Lor’, Miss Ruth, my dear,” answered Nurse, “what can a little lady like you want with a nasty, low, kitchen cat! Come up and play with some of your beautiful toys, there’s a dear! Do.”
Nevertheless Ruth thought about the cat a great deal that afternoon, and the toys seemed even less interesting than usual. When tea was over, and Nurse had taken up her sewing again, she began to make a few inquiries.
“Where does that cat live?” she asked.