of that, mind you. In fact, I
daresay they're a good deal the worse. But they've worn nice and
easy. New shoes are smarter than old ones, but the old ones are more
comfortable. I'm old enough to indulge myself in the matter of shoes and
opinions. I mean to take it real easy here. I know you expect me to look
after you and keep you proper, but I'm not going to do it. You're old
enough to know how to behave if you're ever going to be. So, as far as I
am concerned," concluded Aunt Jamesina, with a twinkle in her young
eyes, "you can all go to destruction in your own way."

"Oh, will somebody separate those cats?" pleaded Stella, shudderingly.

Aunt Jamesina had brought with her not only the Sarah-cat but Joseph.
Joseph, she explained, had belonged to a dear friend of hers who had
gone to live in Vancouver.

"She couldn't take Joseph with her so she begged me to take him. I
really couldn't refuse. He's a beautiful cat--that is, his disposition
is beautiful. She called him Joseph because his coat is of many colors."

It certainly was. Joseph, as the disgusted Stella said, looked like a
walking rag-bag. It was impossible to say what his ground color was. His
legs were white with black spots on them. His back was gray with a huge
patch of yellow on one side and a black patch on the other. His tail was
yellow with a gray tip. One ear was black and one yellow. A black patch
over one eye gave him a fearfully rakish look. In reality he was meek
and inoffensive, of a sociable disposition. In one respect, if in no
other, Joseph was like a lily of the field. He toiled not neither did
he spin or catch mice. Yet Solomon in all his glory slept not on softer
cushions, or feasted more fully on fat things.

Joseph and the Sarah-cat arrived by express in separate boxes. After
they had been released and fed, Joseph selected the cushion and corner
which appealed to him, and the Sarah-cat gravely sat herself down
before the fire and proceeded to wash her face. She was a large, sleek,
gray-and-white cat, with an enormous dignity which was not at all
impaired by any consciousness of her plebian origin. She had been given
to Aunt Jamesina by her washerwoman.

"Her name was Sarah, so my husband always called puss the Sarah-cat,"
explained Aunt Jamesina. "She is eight years old, and a remarkable
mouser. Don't worry, Stella. The Sarah-cat NEVER fights and Joseph
rarely."

"They'll have to fight here in self-defense," said Stella.

At this