we trained along, and it was very hot, and then we got into that weary old boat again, as i could tell by the fishy smell. i was put down by auntie may's side in the cabin, and as soon as she had settled down a man came up to her and told her that she had a dog with her, and then when she denied it he said quite sharply:

'ouvrez!' which means 'open' without 'please.'

i drew myself up to my full height, and when the lid of the basket was lifted up was discovered in a sitting posture. i gave the insolent fellow a look and lay down again to express my thorough contempt of him.

bless me, there was a parrot in a cage, done up in an old red flannel petticoat in the most degrading way, that i heard them paying eighteen-pence for!

it was about five o'clock when we arrived, and took a cab to go home. i was undone in the hall of no. 100 egerton gardens. i then jumped out gracefully and quietly, and stood, a little dazed, to tell the truth. auntie may, having paid the cab, left the servants to get out the luggage, and taking me in her arms went straight to the studio. i knew she wanted badly to go and see mother and fred, but restrained herself.

'fathers before cats!' she said. 'what would dad think if i did not go and dig him out first?'

on opening the studio door she gave a terrible jump, and dropped me. mr. graham was there all right, painting away with his back to her and his palette on his thumb; but what made her jump was the sight of mother sitting on the funny little bit of a chair which was all he would allow himself to sit on when he was tired, and fred and zobeide wallowing composedly in the wastepaper basket—fred larger and more impudent than ever.

worse than this, there was a large black cat with a white star on its breast, mumbling a fish's head in the middle of the floor, that didn't even have the grace to leave off when we came in.

'oh, my dear, darling dad!' cried auntie may, rushing to him. 'how glad i am to see you; and how are you, and why do i find you all—silted up with cats like this?'

mr. graham put down his palette and his mahl-stick, and zobeide ran off with the latter, and fred jumped on to the former, and he kissed auntie may again and again, and answered her question rather slowly.

'well, you see, my dear, you were a long time away, and pet and zobeide and freddy—you were always so fond of them—i thought i could look after them all better if i kept them constantly under my eye. they are not the rose, but they were near it—and i was a bit lonely.'

'and so you had my menagerie in to remind you of me! dear darling dad, you couldn't have paid me a better compliment. but then, father, who is the black gentleman?'

'he is my cat!' said the old gentleman gravely, 'and you will please to love him for my sake. he is another story. one dark night i took him in—or rather he took me in, for he stayed here a week without my knowing it. he drank pet's milk and ate my more easily digested paints, and never had the decency to get pet to present him to me, though he was enjoying my hospitality. he is not well-favoured, as you see, but an interesting beast—an adventurer, i fear. the other cats barely tolerate him!'

i should think not indeed! i had my tail twice as thick as usual already, and the black cat was staring hard at me, wishing he dared stiffen his too, but hardly sure enough of his position yet, in spite of mr. graham's friendly speech, to do so. the black cat then spoke to me personally:

'now don't you be unkind, you new cat!' (my tail got stiffer, and i vowed i would never go from home again and leave a place for interlopers!) 'your gracious lady mother and worthy brother have accepted me, and so why should not you? i only get cat's meat; the cook says it is good enough for me as i am not a thoroughbred, so i don't see why you should object to my presence here. i have shown the others that i am not prepared to be an annoyance. i never play with their rattley ball, or put my nose into their saucers of milk or what not, or sit in their places, as soon as i find out which they are.'

'that is quite true, loki,' said mother. 'he is not at all pushing, and he is fairly good company. fancy! he knows what it is to starve. it is as good as a story to listen to him. such weird tales! i can hardly bring myself to believe them, but then mine has been such a sheltered life!'

'what can any one as pretty as you, ma'am,' said the black cat (and then i saw how he had got round mother), 'know of the wickedness of the world and the cruelty of men? i am an example of that cruelty. i will tell you how—'

fred interrupted him.

'he really isn't bad fun, loki. he does to chase, and when he is caught hasn't the least objection to our biting his tail. it is rather nice to have a plain tail you needn't take care of, isn't it?'

'oh, if you find him useful,' i said, 'i have nothing more to say.'

all this time may and her father were licking each other. he was pleased to see her back. my mother seemed to have forgotten me! she met me merely with politeness, as she might a stranger. it had all fallen out exactly as she had predicted. i was nothing to her now—nothing special, i mean. later on in the day she gave me a bat with her paw, the first of many. i soon got used to it, and hit back.

mr. graham told auntie may that mr. fox had been three times to ask after her. i don't think from the way he spoke that mr. fox had told him about his visit to paris, for he seemed to be under the impression that i had been sent on to her from the cattery at kew by parcels delivery, and, as far as i know, may did not undeceive him. mr. fox had gone up to shortleas, his shooting near beatrice's house, and mr. graham said he was quite rich.

auntie may said, 'how do you know that, daddy?'

'because he told me so, my dear.'

all auntie may said was, 'oh!' but as she went out of the room she added, 'it is a pity he hates cats so, isn't it?'

the black cat's name was charlie, but auntie may never knew that, and she christened him blackavice, because he had a black face. he was a really comfortable old thing, and the night after i came back we all listened to him, sitting on different high things in the room. we cats never like to be crowded up together unless we are sleeping, and then we prefer it because of the warmth.

he was only nine, and he had had a strange and varied life. he told us all in snippets, some things one evening and some another, and some things twice over. we never minded that, but listened to his yarns with the greatest attention. we liked him fairly well, but not well enough to lick him. one never knew where he had been, and there is a dustbin full of potato peelings and other things to every house in the square.

he had lived once, he said, in a family in london where the master kept him to catch mice, and the cook to put thefts on. he never knew what he hadn't done. when he saw a joint or a fish come in, handed over at the backdoor by the fishmonger or the butcher's boy, he used to say sadly to himself, 'now, shall i be supposed to steal that?' and generally the cook's mother came in the afternoon of that day, and, sure enough, she got one of those soles or the end of that joint, and the mistress was told next morning, 'ma'am, that awful charlie again!' he tried to manage to be out of the way while the mistress was ordering dinner, because after saying this sort of thing the cook used to look round for him and broom him out to show how cross she was with him, and how she abhorred his crime. it was a most insecure life. then once or twice he said he thought that he might as well have the good of the fish or meat he was accused of stealing, and he really did take it; but the cook was too sharp for him, and gave him a whipping for stealing the portion of her poor old mother. that didn't pay, and only was the means of his getting two whippings instead of one.

the cook hardly fed him at all, but expected him to cater for himself out of the mice that were living behind the boards, and who came out at night and played about. the supply of mice varied very much, and he said that, when mice were plentiful, he used to let them go so as to save them for another dinner later on; then if mice were scarce he got so weak he couldn't catch them. he often thought it wasn't good enough, and that he would like to make a change. he visited every house in the square in which he lived, in turn, hoping that they would see fit to keep him, as he was a black cat, and a black cat taking up its abode with you is accounted lucky. but no, they all broomed him out, and one tall cook hot-watered him out, and that hurt. so he stayed on with mrs. murch and was bullied all the time, and had no pleasure in life, except on warm sunny days sitting in the square garden pretending that there was no necessity to fag after birds. he used to envy the cats who didn't have need to pretend, but were so well fed that all they need do was to look lazily after the birds flying past, and gibber at them, or cats like us who are positively forbidden to go after birds because it is cruel. the first time the family went away for the summer and left him, he couldn't make head or tail of it, he said. but other cats told him he might think himself lucky they had not locked him in, the way they do sometimes, and then the policeman has to get them out if he is kind and has a mind to. charlie had the run of the garden and the birds, but he missed the 'drain' of milk the cook gave him when she was in a good humour, and he soon got so weak and flabby that he could not catch a bird, and they used to sit in the branches and mock at him—the sparrows, that is.

he made up his mind that he would not go through with it another year, and about july he began to make love to the cook's mother, taking her a mackerel or so that he had stolen on purpose for her and laying it at her feet. the cook's mother was pleased with him, and, as he had calculated, offered to borrow him for a month and see what he could do with the rats down at her place, down at limehouse pier, or something like that, and he said we would hardly believe it, but he got far more to eat while he was there than at home. the poor are much more lavish than the rich, and live so much better. and he saw life! 'my word!' he would say, licking his whiskers, which were fine and large, and his only beauty. he said they were of immense use to him in showing what sized gaps he could get through, for if his whiskers were at all incommoded, he at once knew that the hole or gap was too small for the thickest part of him. such tight places he had been in. he would lift up his head and yawn and say:

'the things i have seen, ma'am, you would not believe!'

then mother would kindly ask him to spare our youth, and not tell us all the dreadful things that he had seen and heard in the slums, for it would not have been nice. he might tell her when they were alone, but as they seldom were alone i don't think he ever got the chance, though he was dying to shock her, because she was so shockable.

and then the old woman died, and a rent-collecting lady, who had been kind to her when she couldn't pay her rent and paid it for her herself, took charlie away with her when all the sticks were sold—there was only a table and a chair, as far as i can remember, when she had pawned everything—and gave him to a little boy who was her nephew. it happened to be a little boy in egerton gardens where we lived. funny, how small the world is! that boy was rough and played experiments with him, and catapulted him, and tied things to him, and harnessed him, and put him to bed in his sister's doll's nightgowns in the day-time. that was disagreeable, charlie said, but he never bit him, and he was glad afterwards, for the little boy got ill.

he was put to bed, and he came out all in red spots, and he simply yelled for his black cat. the nurse took charlie up and put him on the bed, and the little boy grabbed him and held him very uncomfortably for a long time till he got tired. he was a very clever little boy, and when his mother said to him, 'but, teddy, you will give the poor cat your measles,' he answered, 'he can be defected same as me, can't he?'

'they don't disinfect you, my boy, only your clothes,' the mother said. 'and that is so that your clothes may not give it to any one else.'

'then can charlie carry a measle away on his fur?' the little boy asked, very much frightened, and began to cry because he supposed that charlie ought to be taken away from him. they were much upset at the idea, and the nurse said in a low voice:

'we can arrange all that, ma'am; don't thwart him, whatever you do!' and so charlie was left, but from that moment he had an uncomfortable feeling that the nurse meant to kill him when he had done his work of amusing teddy. so when teddy was going to get better he watched to see the sick-room door open, and ran away and came in here.

that was the first time mother had heard of the reasons that had induced him to leave his home, and she was very serious.

'i don't believe that we are liable to measles,' she said thoughtfully. 'but you may give it to auntie may.'

'she never takes me on her lap,' said the black cat sadly. 'i ought not to repine, for it is safer for her, and she is a nice lady. i hunger for a word of affection sometimes, though.'

'the question is, not your need of affection,' said mother severely, 'but the danger of auntie may's getting measles. as your fur—excuse me—is not very long, perhaps you cannot carry infection like, for instance, freddy here. we won't worry.'

i looked every day after that to see if auntie may was coming out in red spots like little teddy, but there was not a single measle that i could see. it was, however, a nasty scare, and mother said charlie was little better than an adventurer, and ought not to have come in like that without any references at all.

he was a battered old thing, too; very shabby and ailing, and seemed to have been very much knocked about in general. the skin of both his ears showed bare and furless where another cat had taken hold of him. his long mean tail was broken off sharp at the end, where it had been caught in a trap, out hunting for rabbits on the sly. and he had had an awful adventure once in france, where he had been taken by some english people and left on the farm which they hired for the summer. there some french child had had the bright idea of putting him on a smart collar of twisted rushes plaited up into a string. the child made it a little too big, not big enough for him to be able to get it off, but big enough for him to get his paw through and nearly his whole front-leg. he said he thought himself very clever to do this, but he bitterly regretted it, for he could not get the leg back and had to walk on three. nobody on the french farm noticed it, and as it was they never fed him. french people never do feed dogs hardly, and cats never. they are not nice to animals. he says he never saw a dog or cat properly covered with flesh the whole time he was there; they were all wretched scrags. well, the trouble with poor charlie was that he couldn't catch any mice or birds to speak of, and he was nearly starving. he thought that he grew rather light-headed, for one day, in his extreme misery, he ran away into the woods and made up his mind to die. the place where his leg was pressing on his neck got sore—the collar rubbed it, i suppose—and he couldn't reach up to lick it, and so the paw got stuck to his body and began to fester, and caused him great pain.

after about a week of starvation he happened to see a lady bathing in the river, who, when she had come out and dried herself, pulled a little bread and meat out of a napkin, and ate something and drank something on the edge of the stream. he went up to her, and she noticed him and called him, but he was too wild and shy to dare to go near her. he was ashamed of himself and the figure he cut.

however, she left half her luncheon and rolled it out on the grass for him, and he came down from a sort of perch he had in a tree and ate it.

next day the lady came and bathed again, and again he did not dare to go near her, although she again left the remains of her luncheon for him. this went on for about a week. she at last brought another lady with her, and the other lady said she was sure that there was something wrong with that black cat, if only he would come near enough for them to see. she hinted that perhaps if she could find out the damage she might be able to do something for him. he heard, still he dared not go near them, for he had a stupid notion that if they once got hold of him they might tie up his other leg. you see, since a mere child had done such a cruel thing to him he distrusted everybody. the other lady said nothing, but one day when he had ventured a little nearer to her than usual, she was very quick and threw a large napkin all over him. he got all mixed up in it, not being as nimble as he would have liked to be, with his arm tied up, and thus he found himself a prisoner.

and glad he was that he had fallen into her hands, although, indeed, at first, he gave himself up for lost. the lady had a pair of scissors hanging to her girdle, and she held him firmly by the scruff of the neck while her companion gripped him by the hind legs to prevent his scratching her, which in his excitement and nervousness he would have been sure to do, and the band of rushes was cut and thrown aside. then he said their exclamations completely reassured him and he ceased to struggle.

'oh, poor creature! his paw has grown right on to his neck! what an awful sore! i can hardly bear to look at it!'

they did look at it, however, and washed it with fresh water from the stream, and cut all the matted bobbedy hair away from the part; still he could not put his paw to the ground. he was quite good and patient, and he tried to show gratitude in his eyes.

'he is a rare ugly beast!' one of them said. 'i feel like st. vincent de paul! do you think he would go in the luncheon basket, and could we make him a bed of rushes and grass in it and take him home?'

the other one objected, but only faintly, and the long and the short of it was they carried him home to the house which they rented on a farm, and looked after him most kindly, washing his sore with warm water every day, and smearing it with nice clean ointment. that was not all. they took him to england and put him in a cat's home, paying eighteen-pence a week for him. from there some one bought him—the mistress of mrs. murch. that brings him down to the time when we first knew him; and indeed, when i think of the good stories he had to tell, i am sorry he ever left us.