one morning we woke up, and found mother had left us. the window was open, and mother had suddenly felt tired of nursing and as if she must have a breath of fresh air. she was outside on a kind of coping there was all round the house. nobody was worrying at all when in came mary and rosamond. they called to mother to come in at once, for it was blowing a cold east wind, and then suddenly they discovered that she was in difficulties. she had jumped off the coping to another piece that stuck out at the side, and now, though she wanted to come back, her resolution had deserted her, and she thought she should never be able to do it. she told us all this, but mary and rosamond only thought she was crying out piteously.

'she can do it quite easily, miss, if she will only face it,' said mary. 'it stands to reason that if she could jump there, she can jump back!'

'of course, mary,' said rosamond. 'what you can do once you can do again. come, you silly-billy! jump! don't be a coward!'

mother explained that the more she thought about it, the more she couldn't do it, and that perhaps if they would go away and leave her to herself, she would feel differently, but of course they couldn't understand her. they took a small chair and held it out of the window with one hand. mother knew that if she were to leap upon that, her weight would make them drop it, and, sure enough, they did drop it all the same, and it went clattering down into the garden below. then they said 'ow! whatever'll miss may say?' and shut the window. mother was glad of that, for the wind was really too cold for us as we lay inside, and as a matter of fact she was not in the slightest danger if only they would go away, go downstairs and pick up the pieces of the chair in the garden. she mildly suggested it to them, but they did not even begin to understand.

'aw, poor thing, don't her mew come faint-like through the window!' said that silly mary. 'you and me can't both leave her, miss. shall one of us go and fetch miss may?'

'do, do go away!' implored mother, 'and then i shall be able to make my jump!'

'i have an idea!' said rosamond, and she came to our basket and picked up zobeide, and carried her to the window and held her out to mother. of course zobeide screamed, and poor mother couldn't stand that and her legs obeyed her unconsciously and brought her in at once. she said 'thank you' to rosamond as she crossed the sill and walloped back into her bed and begged them to shut the window, which of course they didn't do, and it was open half-an-hour later when auntie may came up from her singing lesson and rosamond told her with pride what she had done. auntie may knows a great deal about cats. she said at once that it wasn't necessary, that petronilla would have known quite enough to come in of her own accord, and that it was too cold a day to hold a young kitten out in the raw air; still, as far as she could see, we were all perfectly well, and feeding away busily, so probably no harm was done.

mother said to us that she wasn't quite so sure of that, for the wind was very cold, and she took particular care of zobeide, and gave her the best place, and cuddled her till zobeide squealed and said she didn't like affection if it meant being held so tight.

next morning, when auntie may came and stood over the basket, she seemed very grave.

'rosamond, come here,' she said. 'which kitten did you hold out of the window?'

'i am afraid i don't quite know which,' rosamond said, very much puzzled and upset, as i could tell by her voice. 'it was one of the girls, blanch or zobeide, but i am sure i could not say which of them. why? what is the matter?'

'come and look!' said auntie may.

then i myself noticed for the first time that blanch was lying a little way off mother, and breathing very funnily. her body seemed to break in half under the skin with every breath she took, and she gave a great shake right across her. she was flattened out and her legs parted wide so that her chest was spread along the floor of the basket. she made a rushing noise with her breathing like what one hears when the bath is filling.

'she looks just like a frog!' said rosamond. 'oh, auntie may, is she ill, and is it my fault?'

'do you think it was blanch you held over the window?'

'i said before i don't know, but perhaps it was.'

'it looks rather like it,' said auntie may sadly, and put on her hat and jacket and fetched the doctor.

'lor', for a kitten!' said mary.

'it's worth three guineas if it lives, mary,' said rosamond through her tears. 'but it won't, and it will be my fault. i have murdered it!'

'don't cry, pretty child!' mother said to her. 'it was zobeide you held out of the window, and look at her sleeping so sweetly here under my paw! this is blanch who is dying, and it is the will of providence.'

poor rosamond couldn't understand her, and began to abuse her for her calmness.

'you are a heartless old thing, petronilla, you are! look at you, calmly nursing four kittens, while one of them is too ill even to eat!'

'of course it will not eat. it will die,' said mother gently, and as usual rosamond didn't understand.

'oh yes, you may mew, and try to palaver me, but that won't stop me thinking you a heartless beast!'

'i am a beast,' answered mother sweetly.

'oh, please, please, make it eat! or else it will starve!'

'it will starve,' said mother, but she made no opposition when rosamond tried to make the poor little blanch feed like the rest of us. we had never stopped eating; we knew we couldn't do anything for poor blanch, and we knew, too, that it was zobeide who had been held out of the window, and longed to tell may she was mistaken and put her out of her misery. when dr. hobday came twenty minutes later, we had to listen to auntie may telling him the story, and asking him if that was what had made blanch ill?

'it is very unlikely,' said he. 'this kitten was probably unhealthy from the first. it has pneumonia now, and i am afraid in such a young kitten the case is pretty well hopeless; but we will try to save it, if you think it worth while?'

'it is not worth while,' said mother loudly and clearly, but, of course, no one took any notice of her—she was called the talking cat, but they didn't really think it was talking, only general friendliness—and auntie may said she meant to try and save blanch's life.

first of all blanch was put into a separate basket, lined with flannel; a piece of flannel was to be sewn round her with little holes for her front paws to go out of. she had to lie on a hot bottle. the temperature of the room had to be kept up to sixty-three degrees. she was to be fed every two hours, on a mixture of milk and sugar and hot water, about equal parts, so as to make something as like mother's milk as possible.

'i shall have to sit up with her,' said auntie may, 'or buy an alarm clock to wake me up every two hours.'

'oh, auntie may, do let me sit up!' cried rosamond.

'why, you are but a kitten yourself!'

'ah, but i'm over three years old,' said rosamond. 'i am twelve years old. i suppose that represents a kitten's twelve weeks, doesn't it? so this kitten is three weeks, that is to say three years old.'

'it is a baby in arms,' said auntie may, 'and is going to be fed with a bottle, like other babies.'

she had got a doll's feeding-bottle she had bought once at a bazaar, and she tried that, but it was defective and would not let the milk run through. then she got her stylographic pen-filler and dipped that in the milk she had arranged and sucked some up, and squirted it out into blanch's mouth, and really got some in that way; but it was a slow business, and poor blanch used to hate being disturbed dreadfully. she was too young to talk, but she used to get into a regular temper sometimes and turn away her body with a scraping noise in her throat that meant how disgusted she was with life and people trying to cure her.

she was an awfully pretty kitten. 'oh, you are a beauty,' auntie may used to say, 'and i wish i could save you.'

blanch had been much more forward in some ways than the rest of us; she had climbed all over auntie may, and had a strong little back, and could sit up and look grown up, though she was only three. her fur was nice too, a very much lighter grey than zobeide's or mine, and her head very broad, and the distance between her small ears very great.

her sick-basket was in a different part of the room from ours; we could not, of course, get out to look at her, and i don't believe mother ever did. auntie may did not seem to expect her to. she always told her how blanch was, and mother used to say that blanch was in good hands, and that auntie may could do what she could not do for blanch, feed her through stylographic pens, for instance. but she always said that though it was very good of auntie may to devote herself so, she could not alter the result of blanch's illness; no sick kitten as young as that could possibly recover. if only it had learned to feed itself, there would be a chance for it, and not much even then. she was glad for our sakes that auntie may had parted us; she believed in the segregation of invalids. she had learned that hard long word in the cattery.

after two days the doctor came and looked at blanch. he didn't take her up.

'this kitten is better!' he said in a surprised tone. 'it breathes more freely. you may save it yet. if you want to apply for the post of nurse for animals i'll recommend you, miss graham.'

the day after that blanch was so much better that auntie may went to a party which was given in a house near by. she was to be only two hours away. she fed blanch at nine, after she was dressed, kneeling down beside her in her new pink dress. having left blanch quite comfortable, and pretty well, hardly coughing at all, she went away singing down the stairs. rosamond was, of course, in bed. she went to bed at half-past eight, and made a great fuss about it every night. we four went to sleep. mother liked the temperature kept at sixty degrees; à quelque chose malheur est bon, she said, which means bad-luck is good for something, and sent us to sleep with her soft purring.

punctually at eleven i was awakened by the swish of auntie may's dress on the stairs, and she came up followed by mary, and the electric light was turned full on.

'bring me my traps, mary,' said auntie may, and she sat down just as she was and began to mix the water and sweetened hot milk. when she had got it ready she leaned over the patient, and then called out.

'come here, mary,' she said in a queer voice. 'this kitten is dying!'

'the doctor said it was better, miss.'

'so it is better—its breathing is better—but it is dying all the same. look at its eyes!'

'just like my old aunt's died last june! well, miss, it's only a kitten after all!'

auntie may held blanch up in her two hands and looked at her. she gave her her medicine and a little drop—a real drop, not what the cook here calls a drop—of brandy, but blanch let it all roll out of her mouth and on to the pink gown. i knew that from what mary said: 'lor', miss, your nice gown!'

'it's no good, mary. its eyes are glazing already. they look tormented. we mustn't plague her any more. bring petronilla!'

'how absurd!' said mother, as mary lifted her out.

auntie may showed her blanch, whom she had laid back in her bed. blanch's head had rolled quite uncomfortably back, and her eyes saw nothing. she was almost gone.

mother didn't do at all what they expected, though; indeed, i don't know whether they expected her to bring blanch back from the grave in some mysterious way that mothers ought to know of. mother had no way. she knew it was no good. to satisfy them she did something. she licked and rolled blanch over in her bed with her tongue—roughly, i suppose, from the way they spoke.

'she's killed it!' said auntie may. 'look, it's dead!'

she took blanch up, and blanch's head fell back over her hand and a film came over her eyes—so auntie may said afterwards.

poor auntie may put blanch down again, and cried as if her heart would break.

'i nursed it—i took such care—and he said i had saved it, and no, it's dead—oh!—oh!—'

'don't cry, miss may, don't cry so,' mary begged. 'it's only a kitten at that. we'll bury it in the garden. it will be our first funeral; there's a nice little place back of them trees, i've often thought of it for that. here, let me get you out of your dress. i'll put the corpse in the bathroom till the morning. what'll ever your father think if he hears you crying like this over a kitten, and wake miss rosamond, too!'

then auntie may stopped, because she wasn't selfish, and let mary put her to bed, and went to sleep very soon after. i asked mother if she wouldn't mind telling me why she had licked blanch so hard.

'my dear child,' mother said, 'i daresay you and auntie may consider me very unfeeling, and think it very odd that she should do all the crying instead of me; but then you must realise that i was never in favour of nursing blanch and trying to keep her alive. she was delicate and bound to die sooner or later. it is a great mistake to try to preserve the lives of kittens that are weak and feeble from the very beginning, and no sensible cat would ever countenance such a proceeding. they do as they choose with theirs, and a nice lot of invalids, cripples, and criminals they raise up to make difficulties afterwards for them! as a matter of fact, blanch was cured of her illness, and i don't deny any of the credit to auntie may of having done it—i couldn't have done it myself—but, as the doctor will tell her to-morrow, the child died of heart-failure. i knew it would go like that. when they called me in i had to do something for form's sake, and i licked her. poor little dear, we must forget about this closing scene of her very short career, and try to grow up healthy ourselves. that i look upon as a cat's first duty. you ask why? in the battle of life the weaklings must go under. now feed properly and don't choke, as you are sure to do if you are greedy and in too much of a hurry.'

rosamond was told about blanch next day, and she cried too. fresh from my mother's lecture i looked upon her almost with disgust. the silly child talked of going into mourning, and, sure enough, she found an old bit of black crape somewhere and sewed it on the arm of her frock. i had no patience with her. we relations were, on the contrary, forbidden to make any difference, and mother was even gay, though i noticed a tear in her eyes sometimes when nobody was looking. i heard rosamond propose to bring poor blanch, who by now, she said, had grown quite stiff, to show to her mother for a last look before she was buried; but, to mother's great relief, mary had taken blanch and buried her before breakfast by auntie may's orders.

'don't be morbid, my dear child!' auntie may said, when rosamond complained of what mary had done. 'i don't like any one to gloat over funerals, much less children. you must forget blanch, poor dear blanch, who made such a brave fight for her life, and remember that there are four left.'

so you see in the main she said the same thing as mother, which convinces me, as i said before, that she knew a good deal about cats.