to see when she got there.
As they drove quickly through the village, she looked quite longingly at
all the familiar places they passed. At the post-office, where her
cousins had taken her to fetch the afternoon letters and buy
bull's-eyes; at the cottage, where the old woman lived who had the
immense yellow cat; at the blacksmith's, who was shoeing Dr Price's grey
horse; and at the school-house, where the chubby-faced boys and girls
were just pouring out into the road.

Farther on, she could see in the distance the gables and outbuildings of
the Manor Farm, and the deep thatched roof of old Sally's cottage, from
which a thin thread of smoke was rising. She was sorry to leave all
these friendly things, and there seemed nothing to look forward to at
Haughton Park, except perhaps the white kitten. She began to wonder how
it was, and whether it had missed her, and remembering Maisie's advice,
she determined that she would try to improve its behaviour, and make it
into a really good cat. Her first question, therefore, when she arrived
was, "Where's Blanche?" and she looked impatiently at her mother for the
answer, for Mrs Trevor hesitated.

"The kitten, my darling?" she said rather nervously; "the kitten's in
the stable, I think. I told Thomas to take great care of it."

Philippa, who was on her way up-stairs, turned round and faced her
mother defiantly.

"Why is it in the stable?" she asked. "Who sent it there? It must come
back directly."

"My sweet Philippa," said Mrs Trevor in a soothing voice, "do listen to
me a moment; the kitten is a naughty little mischievous thing, and I
cannot put up with it in the house any longer. I will just tell you
why. You know my new velvet mantle which has just come down from
London? The other day Briggs found the kitten lying in the very middle
of it on my bed! Its paws were muddy, its hairs came off and stuck to
the velvet, and I doubt if the mantle will ever be the same. Now, my
darling, _don't_ agitate yourself. It will be quite happy in the
stable, and we shall be much more comfortable without it indoors. If
anything's broken or goes wrong, I'm always told it is `Miss Philippa's
kitten,' and I'm tired to death of it."

Mrs Trevor paused and looked appealingly at her daughter, who only
stamped her foot angrily in reply.

"I'll give you what you like for a pet instead of it. Love-birds, now,
or a cockatoo? A cockatoo is no trouble at all, and quite an ornament
t