3 04 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



sister Maria, who had a fancy for anything Greek- 

 ish ; but Zoe never made a Y.&quot; 



Always by the fireside, always basking in light 

 and warmth, always in graceful harmony with her 

 surroundings (it has been well said that no house is 

 really furnished without books and cats and fair- 

 haired little girls), always a pleasure to every well- 

 regulated mind, Pussy fills her place in life with 

 that rare perfection which is possible only to a 

 creature delicately modelled, and begirt by inflexi 

 ble limitations. We are soothed by her repose ; 

 she is unfretted by our restlessness. A fine invisi 

 ble barrier lies between us. She is the Sphinx of 

 our hearthstone, and there is no message we can 

 read in the tranquil scrutiny of her cold eyes. 



Once, long ago, a little grey cat sat on my desk 

 while I wrote, swept her tail across my copy, or 

 patted with friendly paw my pen as it travelled 

 over the paper. Even now I put out my hand 

 softly to caress the impalpable air, for her spirit 

 still lingers in the old accustomed spot. I see her 

 sitting erect and motionless in the superb attitude 

 of her Egyptian forefathers, her serious eyes heavy 

 with thought, her lids drooping a little over the 

 golden depths below. After a time they close, and 

 her pretty head nods drowsily ; but, like a perverse 

 child, she resists the impelling power, straightens 



