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“Well, Miss Philomène,” she exclaimed at length, “I wonder what you will be up to next? Put that dirty little cat down this minute.”

Philomène obeyed. “I wanted it to have some of the milk that was left over from supper,” she protested timidly.

“And so it may,” retorted Nurse, whose bark was worse than her bite, “so long as you don’t go on holding it against your dress.”

So Philomène took a saucer, and busied herself with the kitten on the hearth-rug. This was a bearskin, and had figured many a time in solitary games of Beauty and the Beast, for it had served as the hero’s costume till he finally became a prince and discarded it, when Philomène, whose housewifely little soul disliked waste, had made the princess suggest that it should be lined with red flannel, and turned into a useful rug for the throne-room. The kitten lapped up the milk eagerly, and settled itself comfortably in front of the fire.

“And now you had better put it back where it came from, Miss,” said Nurse.

“The saucer?” inquired Philomène blankly.