THE UGLIEST ONE. 89

_to belong to Ruth, and to no one else, we had to make the best
of it, and to overlook the occasional corpse of a chicken—though
I must say that he soon learnt to do no murder.

At the present moment he is lying on the hearthrug, with
his nose tucked in among his paws; dreaming, I dare say, of
all the housebreakings he would like to commit but cannot,
since we have been obliged to have new cat-proof locks put on
to all the doors; and Ruth declares that nothing comforts her
toothache — for she still has it sometimes —like making a
cushion for her face out of Fitz-Griffin, who seems to be fully
alive to the honour, and purrs as if his heart would break.