THE UGLIEST ONE. 79

“Til tell you what!” said Ruth suddenly, “I daresay
Griffin will let it live in the stable with him and have some of
_ his meals. Perhaps he would like to pretend that the kitten is
his son. Let us try when we go in; nobody could mind that if
Griffin didn’t! Iam sure he must be very dull in the stable all
alone!”

This idea seemed such a good one that we determined to
try it, and spent the rest of the way home in inventing a name
for little pussy. We thought of a great many, but all of them
seemed too common for such an uncommon-looking animal as
he undoubtedly was. At last Ruth said, “If it is to be the son
of Griffin, we had better call it Fitz-Griffin; like Fitz-Howard,
you know, means the son of Howard, and Fitz-Allen the son of
Allen.”

This was such a bright thought! We agreed that Fitz-
Griffin should be the name of the little waif, with Fitz for
short.

“ He looks something like a Griffin, too,” said Ruth.

“Look how he spreads out his claws when he is pleased
and waves them about!” And indeed the kitten had an odd,
rampant sort of way when Ruth put it on the ground for a
moment, of sitting bolt upright and clawing the air just like the
dragon on my father’s seal. This was a queer way of begging
to be carried which that kitten always had, and which it must
have learnt of its own accord, together with many other tricks
which we found out afterwards.

We made haste home, overjoyed to think of having settled
so comfortable a home in the stable for our new pet, where it
would have the society of a respectable member of its own kind.
However, we were disappointed in this matter, for whether it
was that Griffin, being a cat advanced in life, did not care to
have young and gay friends about him, or whether he liked to