THE UGLIEST ONE. 87

We had often read stories of cats which opened doors
before—and had half believed them—but we had never heard of
a young kitten having such an old head upon its shoulders.
What would wot Fitz-Griffin be able to do at full age, if nature
should keep him alive? Unless we tied that kitten up, it was
plain that it would always. be too many for us. Mother said
we must find it ‘a happy home,” and so, with many sighs and
tears, Ruth took it to the postmaster’s wife, who wanted a cat,
did not care for good looks, as she said “handsome is that
handsome does” was her notions, and would be sure to treat it
kindly. I think, though, that, when it came to the parting,
Ruth was quite sorry she had not an attack of toothache—
which never would come at the right time—for she would have
made it a plea for being allowed to cuddle the kitten fora few
days longer. The post-office was at least four miles from our
house—too far for the pussy to run away home to Ruth. It
was smuggled there by night in a basket, so as not to know the.
way home.

We were just setting out for London to pay a long visit;
by the time we came back it would be accustomed to the’
change, and have forgotten us, we thought.

But was Fitz-Griffin to be got rid of so easily as all
that ? :
Not a bit of it. Nearly a year afterwards, when we had
almost left off thinking of our comical little visitor, Ruth and .

I were at the post-office buying some stamps for mother, while
she drove on to pay a call higher up the road, and left us to
-walk back.

The postmistress came in, and as she opened the door there
was arush. Something dashed at Ruth, ‘‘ swarmed” up her back,
and twisting itself round her neck like a boa, in an ecstasy of

purring, began to rub against her face and lick her cheek. “It