s diminutive
tail to almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit wrathfully.

"And so that is Spunk!" choked Bertram.

"Yes," said Billy. "This is Spunk."

CHAPTER VIII

THE ROOM--AND BILLY

For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation was a
fitful thing made up mostly of a merry monologue on the part of Billy
herself, interspersed with somewhat dazed replies from one after another
of her auditors as she talked to them in turn. No one thought to ask if
she cared to go up to her room, and during the entire fifteen minutes
Billy sat on the floor with Spunk in her lap. She was still there when
the funereal face of Pete appeared in the doorway. Pete's jaw dropped.
It was plain that only the sternest self-control enabled him to announce
dinner, with anything like dignity. But he managed to stammer out the
words, and then turn loftily away. Bertram, who sat near the door,
however, saw him raise his hands in horror as he plunged through the
hall and down the stairway.

With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedly
gripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all the world like a
villain in melodrama:

"Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will come
up-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after dinner,
and then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's got to be done.
Sh-h!" And he dragged his sister downstairs.

In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at her
chair with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, dumbly
staring into her eyes. At last he stammered:

"Ma'am?"

"A chair, please, I said, for Spunk, you know. Spunk always sits at the
table right next to me."

It was too much for Bertram. He fled chokingly to the hall. William
dropped weakly into his own place. Cyril stared as had Pete; but Mrs.
Hartwell spoke.

"You don't mean--that that cat--has a chair--at the table!" she gasped.

"Yes; and isn't it cute of him?" beamed Billy, entirely misconstruing
the surprise in the lady's voice. "His mother always sat at table with
us, and behaved beautifully, too. Of course Spunk is little, and makes
mistakes sometimes. But he'll learn. Oh, there's a chair right here,"
she added, as she spied Bertram's childhood's high-chair, which for long
years had stood unused in the corner. "I'll just squeeze it right in
here," she finished gleefully, making room for the chair at her side.

When Bertra