The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1890-06-11
THAT WHITE CAT.


On Monday morning left Waterloo,
and in a couple of hours was seated in
Lady Pownceby's dog-cart. My hostess
met me at the door, and insisted on my
going at once to my room, where found
luncheon laid.
dorothy is out, - she said. "She is
busy with her poor women this morning.
She is very useful in the village; indeed,
our vicar, Mr. Haig, calls her his assis-
tant-curate.
dorothy is your niece?"
eyes; my poor sister, Mrs. Braith-
waite's daughter. She is an orphan.
You will meet her at dinner, and I'm
sure | hope you will be great friends. "
hoped so too. ! never was a lady's
man. OF women friends had not one,
and of acquaintance but a few. What
would two months be at Darlington if
Dorothy and | were not friendsl / was
anxious to meet her. Her name sounded
prlm, | thought; and her aunts mention
of parochial work had raised forebod-
ing within me. She was a sallow, an-
gular, old-young lady, felt sure, who
spoke always with polish and precision,
and whose conversation savored of the
mothers meeting. I was angry with
myself for coming to this place.
Even then no relief came. AS the bell
rang, Lady Pownceby sailed into the
drawing-room. dorothy hasn't come
in yet, Mr.. Oswald Jones. We will not
wait dinner for her; one never knows
when she will return; will you give me
your arml"
| felt that | was a man with griev-
ance. l, Oswald Jones, of the Middle
Temple, barristcr-at-law, one of the
rising men, the papers said, had con-
demned myself to spend my vacation in
an obscure country house, and Dorothy
Braithwaite (but rather pretty name l
thought), spinster, showed herself so un-
impressed as to absent herself from the
house the whole day. But with the fish
came Dorothy.
II am sorry l am so late, aunt" she
said. "Mrs. Wade's Tommy has the
measles, and i had to mind her other
olive-branches while she fetched the
doctor. This is Mr. Oswald Jonesl"
She looked at me with a frank smile as
we shook hands.
She sat down and began to eat with a
healthy appetite. l watched her. NY
foTeboding was utterly stultitied. Tall
and stately; with complexion of red
and brown, fair hair, and pair of eyes
large, blue, dark-fringed, expressive, /
felt my visit was not in vain. l would
have gone twice as far to make the ac-
quaintance of the owner of such eyes.
She was perfectly self-possessed. She
seldom spoke. Occasionally she would
look up at me, and was charmed with
her delightful eyes. When the ladies
left me, | fastened after them. Lady
Pownceby was settling herself for her
post-prandial nap; Dorothy was sitting at
the window, leaning back in her chair
and looking out.
"Come and sit here" she said.
"You must make yourself at home,
Mr.. Oswald JONES' sand sleepy voice
from the other end of the room.
al am rather surprised to find myself
here l said to Dorothy.
care youl Aunt often speaks of you.
She thinks a great deal of you. She read
the Times, and whenever she sees yom
name in the law reports, she reads them
with ten-fold interest. Here's Mr..
Oswald Jones's name again, she will say
Il really must know more of that young
man. p"
"Why does she always call me by my
full namel Why not Mr.. Jones, sim
ply?"
"Oh, there are so many Joneses, you
know. Our curate's name is Jones, and
no doubt she calls you Oswald Jones to
distinguish you from him"
Perhaps Dorothy was to be assistant
curate in a more particular sense. Strange
to say, l felt jealous. But l was pre-
vented from asking any questions by a
sudden introduction to another inmate of
the house. Something stirred behind
the curtain at my side, and out sprange
q large white cat, which dug its claws
into the carpet and arched its back and
then leaped in Dorothy's lap. Dorothy
began stroking its head, putting her head
against its, and performing those many
little tricks which ladies and cats enjoy.
Now l abominate the whole feline race.
And this cat especially won my destesta-
tion. Its fur was spotlessly white, and
the fact that l could find no fault with it
made me hate it the more. Dorothy
spoke to it and kissed the animal. /
loathed it,
II hate cats % / cried.
"Popsy hates men," Dorothy serenely
replied. "Mr Arthur Jones, our curate,
you know, is the only man she will allow
to touch her -