's outer cat. He was of
a pure breed, far removed from the long-legged, lanky race of ordinary
station-cats, who from time to time disappeared into the bush and
contracted alliances with the still more degraded specimens of their
class who had long been wild among the scrub. No: Sandy came of "pur
sang," and held his small square head erect, with a haughty carriage
as beseemed his ancestry. His fur was really beautiful, a sort of
tortoiseshell red, the lighter stripes repeating exactly the different
golden tints of a fashionable chignon. In early youth, though it is
difficult to imagine Sandy ever a playful kitten, his tail had been
curtailed to the length of three inches, and this short, flexible
stump gave an air of great decision to Sandy's movements. But his chief
peculiarity, and I must add, attraction, in my opinion, was the perfume
of his sleek coat. When Sandy condescended to take his evening doze on
my linsey lap, I never smelt anything so strange and so agreeable as the
odour of his fur, specially that on the top of his head. It was like the
most delicate musk, but without any of the sickly smell common to that
scent. I believe Sandy knew of this personal peculiarity, and felt proud
of it.

A far more unselfish and agreeable personage was Rose, the white
terrier, whose name often finds a loving place in these pages. She and
Sandy dwelt together in peace and amity, although the little doggie
never could have felt any affection for her selfish companion. Rose's
nerves were of a delicate and high-strung order, and there was nothing
she hated so much as uproarious noise. Every now and then it chanced
that during a few days of wet or windy weather, our little house had
been filled by passing guests: gentlemen who had called in to ask for
supper and a bed, intending to go on next day. In a country where
inns or accommodation-houses are fifty miles apart, this is a common
incident, and it sometimes happens that the resources of station
hospitality are taxed to the utmost in this way. I have known our own
little wooden box to be so closely packed, that besides a guest on each
sofa in the drawing-room, there would be another on a sort of portable
couch in the dining-room. This was after the spare room had been filled
to the utmost. A delicate "new chum," who required to be pampered, had
retired to rest on the hard kitchen sofa described elsewhere; whilst a
couple of sturdy travellers were sleeping soundly in the saddle