a week after that auntie may did not come down to breakfast, and mary looked fussy and important as if something had happened, and a certain great carriage came and stood at our door, which mother said was a doctor's carriage. we heard mary and the cook talking about it.

'it's measles, sure enough,' said mary. 'mrs. curtis's little boy, t'other side of the square, died of it last week. it is all over. you and me'll go next, cook, sure as eggs is eggs.'

'eggs is often egg powder,' said the cook severely. 'you just sit still and don't go to meet misfortune half-way. more work and less talk, i say.'

we told the black cat that he was little better than a murderer, bringing measles in and giving them to our dear auntie may, and we made him so uncomfortable that he left. i don't suppose he would starve or anything, for he had collected enough strength with us to last him through the winter, and make him fit to catch as many birds as he could eat. besides, i don't think he was going to live long anyhow. to my certain knowledge he had licked up a whole tube of madder-lake, and swallowed the cork of a bottle of quick-drying copal.

mary was not a good cat-maid, though she had acquired what auntie may called the cat-tread. she had learned to walk carefully, shovelling her feet along the floor so as to avoid treading on kittens. of course, now that we were older, we oozed away ourselves, and were too proud to call out if a paw got caught, or so on.

then an awful thing happened, and while auntie may was ill too. perhaps if auntie may hadn't been ill it would never have happened. zobeide went and lost herself.

we all went out now and then, though it wasn't approved of unless auntie may took us herself, and that was all right; it was going alone that was wrong. whenever we were missed there was a fine hue and cry, and auntie may used to run out without her boots, or her hat, or her jacket, and hunt the garden. when she had done this in vain, she used to go out in the street and walk all round the fronts of the houses to see if she could see a bit of grey cat sticking out anywhere. she got me that way once. i was sitting on the outside wall looking inwards and my tail hung down into the street. she came along and took hold, and wow! but i had to come down backwards along with it! i felt as if it were being pulled out by the roots, and that all resistance was vain and painful as well. so i was amenable to persuasion, if you can call anything so rough as that persuasion.

there was no auntie may to fetch zobeide in. she wasn't even told lest it sent up her temperature. besides, i fancied some one had stolen zobeide, and i remembered that auntie may once said that one merit of having valuable cats was that if they got lost or were stolen it wasn't to do them harm; that the thief would cherish every hair of the coat of a blue persian, and that it was only a question of change of residence and missing the departed, without the agony of imagining all sorts of horrid fates that might have befallen them. she said she could never sleep at night if she had to think of the possibility of our coming upon the streets and being carried off to be vivisected. perhaps poor charlie got vivisected! oh dear!

mother and i and fred did not break our hearts or care half so much about zobeide as poor mr. graham did. he took an immense lot of trouble, and went to the police station about her, and when he came home he wrote on a great piece of paper, in copy-book hand:

lost

valuable persian cat

on the thirty-first instant from

no. 100 egerton gardens.

whoever will bring the same back to owner will receive

the sum of five pounds.

this he had printed, and mother says she heard that a copy was stuck in the window of every shop in the district. of course that curious mary had to go out and spy them all out and come home and tell cook.

we were a great deal in the kitchen at this period, and liked it in a way. it was warmer than anywhere else in the house, and there were plenty of odd things good to eat, though auntie may strictly forbade mary or cook to feed us between meals. our meals were always arranged beforehand. for instance, fred could not eat fish—it always made him sick. he also liked a thing better if he had stolen it. when he was ill and wouldn't eat his bread and milk they put it on the china-table to tempt him, and it did. he would eat all quickly, thinking he would get shooed off every other minute. mother could not bear lentils; she had never been brought up to them, she said. now i loved them, also cod-liver-oil biscuits. none of us could stand salt meat or veal, but game, of course, was heaven. we had different ways with the bones. i like to split mine up and get the juice that is inside the bone out and suck it. mother thought it would hurt our teeth, and she only picked hers. as she was getting a little old, she had raw meat twice a week to strengthen her, and in the winter auntie may always gave her cod-liver-oil. what she really liked best was burnt currants out of a cake. she used to sit at auntie may's elbow and pick them out of her mouth. i have a weakness for anchovy sandwiches, and auntie may always gratifies it.

so you see we are rather a nuisance with our various likes and dislikes; but i am bound to say cook and mary were very good while auntie may's illness lasted, and did not alter the menu in the least. the measles lasted an age. i cannot count time, so i don't know, but i remember very clearly the first day when auntie may was 'safe'—able to see us, i mean. she had been away to the seaside before that time, and i heard mary say that when she came back she might go anywhere and see who she liked.

mary tied bows of ribbon on all our necks against her home-coming; she thought auntie may wouldn't mind for once, and cook and she thought that she didn't really ever keep us smart enough.

i tried not to get mine worked round to my chin so as to oblige mary; but fred got his mixed up with sardine-oil about an hour before she came, and had to have it taken off.

we were all in her study when she came in, and i was determined she should not complain of the coldness of our welcome this time, so we all rushed at her.

'mercy! what a lot of little catapults!' said she. the day was cold, for it was nearly autumn, and she threw off her coat, not caring how dreadfully distracting it was to freddy. he bore it well, though, and left the most fascinating bobble untouched lest she should feel neglected.

'where is zobeide?' she said suddenly. 'mary! mary!' for mary had bolted.

'i simply cannot rest till i find zobeide,' she muttered, going to cupboard doors and opening them. 'the darling! where is she, mary? mary!'

it is always the way. she had got us, but people always want the one they haven't got, and then take not the slightest interest in the ones that have been good and stayed at home; for, of course, as every one knew, zobeide was up to no good when she got herself stolen. auntie may got quite mad with anxiety, and opened the door of her room and met mary on the threshold.

'mary, please, where is zobeide?'

'lost, miss. mr. fox have called.'

auntie may banged the door and went down to see mr. fox. i suppose mary told her about zobeide on the way downstairs, that is if she cared any more to listen. people are so funny!