“I tried to all I could, I do assure you, sir; but she bit me and tore my hands, then jumped down and disappeared in the crowd.”
“Well, come along and take my things out of the compartment where we put them, for I shan’t go by this train.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. But she’s only a cat, sir. You could get another.”
“Do as you’re told, porter, please,” said my master imperiously.
Without another word the porter followed him to the first-class compartment, and there they found me cosily snuggled up among the rugs!
(This incident occurred just as described, the dramatis personae being the author and his own far-travelled cat Muffie Two.)
Master was delighted, and gave the porter half-a-sovereign to heal his wounded dignity, and his still more wounded fingers.
My children, I travelled many and many a thousand miles with master after that both by sea and by land, but never again did he insult my amour propre by putting me in a creel.
At this moment Lizzie and Tom joined the group of old friends on the lawn. Tom threw himself down on the grass, and began to twine the garland of gowans he had been making around the neck of Vee-Vee, the Pomeranian dog.