sleek and
dry, with a ravenously whetted appetite. My aunt was so pleased with her
favourite's improved appearance that she became quite affable, even to
me. I was informed that as I had not been looking well lately I might go
for a few days' change to the seaside; the salubrious air of
Muddiford-on-the-Ooze would just suit me. What a blessing! To have
escaped from those ice-gleaming spectacles and from that resuscitated
beast Beauty I would gladly have gone to Jericho, much more to
Muddiford-on-the-Ooze. Then my aunt continued her course of
instructions, with the nearest approach to a smile I had ever seen
on her face.

[Illustration: A SHOW AT MUDDIFORD-ON-THE-OOZE.]

"You will enjoy yourself, I am sure, Samuel, and you will also be able
to show what pains you can take to please me," she said, sipping her
first glass of Burgundy with approving relish. "There is to be a show at
Muddiford the day after to-morrow, at which I intend exhibiting, and you
will be able to manage everything for me; so mind you are careful to do
your best."

"I shall be most delighted," I declared gushingly. "What show is it? And
what can I have the pleasure of taking charge of for you, my dear aunt?"

"It's the Grand All-England Cat Show, and you will take Beauty; and I
shall be greatly disappointed if you do not bring me back the first
prize. So be on your best behaviour, Samuel, or perhaps you may live to
regret it."

My jaw dropped, and I thought I should have slid under the table. Good
heavens! It was that beast Beauty who was to go for a holiday, while I
was to act as the infernal fiend's keeper! O my prophetic soul--my aunt!
But there was no help for it; I was bound in bonds of gold.

On the following day, Beauty and I were duly driven to the station, the
former being luxuriously nested in a small hamper specially furnished
for the occasion. About half-way on the road, just as we had mounted a
long, steep hill, the cat managed to roll his residence from the stern
of the dog-cart and trundle himself half-way home again. Luckily, he
screeched blue murder at the tip-top of his voice, or we might not have
missed the beast. As it was, his cyclical retrogression made us just too
late for the train, and we had to wait two hours for the next. So I
seated myself on the hamper--like Patience on the proverbial
monument--and beheld the coachman depart homewards, with a sympathetic
hat-touching salute, leaving me with a gloomy conviction of co