Her Best Friend.
After this letter had been dropped into the pillar-box just in front of the house, Ruth began to look out still more eagerly for the kitchen cat, but days passed and she caught no glimpse of it anywhere.
It was disappointing, and troublesome too, because she had to carry the Bath bun about with her so long. Not only was it getting hard and dry, but it was such an awkward thing for her pocket that she had torn her frock in the effort to force it in.
“You might a’ been carrying brick-bats about with you, Miss Ruth,” said Nurse, “by the way you’ve slit your pocket open.”
This went on till Ruth began to despair. “I’ll try it one more evening,” she said to herself, “and if it doesn’t come then I shall give it up.”
Once more, therefore, when she was ready to go downstairs, she took the bun out of the dolls’ house, where she kept it wrapped up in tissue paper, and squeezed it into her pocket. Rather hopelessly, but still keeping a careful look-out, she proceeded slowly on her way, when behold, just as she reached the top of the last flight, a little cringing grey figure crossed the hall below.
“It’s come!” she exclaimed in an excited whisper. “It’s come at last!”
But though it had come, it seemed now the cat’s greatest desire to go, for it was hurrying towards the kitchen stairs.
“Puss! Puss!” called out Ruth in an entreating voice as she hastily ran down. “Stop a minute! Pretty puss!”
Startled at the noise and the patter of the quick little feet, the cat paused in its flight and turned its scared yellow-green eyes upon Ruth.