250 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



the village parsonage, thin, half-starved, wretched, 

 the shadow of her old defiant self. Carried back 

 once more to town, everything was done that might 

 content her restless little heart. The housekeeper 

 fed her with dainties, and even ministered delicately 

 to her predatory tastes by leaving the cupboard 

 door open, as if by accident, hoping to tempt her 

 failing appetite with the sweetness of stolen cream. 



" Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling, 

 Were it not for stealing, stealing." 



It was all in vain. The familiar walls called to her 

 from afar, and, obeying an instinct too strong for 

 rejection, she journeyed wearily back, to die, if need 

 be, in her kittenhood's home. 



Then the wise old servant, feeling that only radi- 

 cal measures could cure so obstinate a disease, 

 devised a plan which shows how well she under- 

 stood the nature of a cat. There was a little pond 

 at the foot of the curb's country garden, where, 

 erstwhile. Pussy had been wont to he dreaming the 

 summer days away. Going herself to the village, 

 the woman directed one of the farmer boys — an 

 active and mischievous lad — to catch her truant 

 pet, and dip her three times deep under the cold 

 and hateful water. It was enough. Felis amat 

 pisces, sed non vult tingere plantam. And to be 

 thus scandalously ill-treated in the spot she loved 

 best, where she had lorded it over the neighbouring 



