Philippa. Darkie was certainly growing handsome and more amusing every
day, but perhaps he could not exactly be considered a "comfort." Madam,
his mother, at any rate did not find him one, and was often very vexed
with him, because he would not give up the pranks and follies of
childhood. She could no longer put up with it patiently, when he
pounced upon her tail if she happened to whisk it, or played leap-frog
over her back like a small black goblin. On such occasions she would
spit at him angrily, and box his ears with the whole strength of her
outstretched arm, but Darkie did not care a bit. He must play with some
one, and as Peter the dog would not notice him, there was no one left
but Madam. Dennis and Maisie were quite ready to have a game, but they
were not to be compared to cats for fun and frolic, and besides, they
began to have some tiresome ideas about training and education. Darkie
must be taught to beg like Peter. Every morning, before he was allowed
to taste his breakfast, he was made to go through certain exercises.

"Beg, Darkie, beg," Maisie would say, holding the plate high above his
head; and then Dennis would place him forcibly down on his hind-legs,
and lift up his front paws. Darkie was a cunning cat, and he soon found
that begging was to his advantage, so he learned his lesson quickly, but
it was only one of many which followed, and he got very tired of them.

"Darkie can beg," said Maisie, when she next saw Philippa. "How does
Blanche get on?"

Philippa had driven over to Fieldside with her mother one bright
afternoon in April, and now she and Maisie were in the garden, Dennis as
usual being absent on business connected with the Round Robin. Maisie
had been very pleased to see Philippa when she first arrived, for she
wanted to hear about the white kitten, and she looked forward to a
pleasant talk with her. Before she had been there five minutes,
however, it was easy to see that she was not in a nice mood. That was
the worst of Philippa, Maisie always found. You could never take her up
just at the point you left her; she might be agreeable, and she might be
just the opposite. To-day she had her grown-up manner, and was full of
little affected airs and graces, and Maisie, glancing at her once or
twice, saw the reason of it. Philippa was wearing a new hat of the
latest fashion, covered with the most beautiful drooping feathers, and
she could not forget it for a moment.

"If I can