The stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking at him curiously.  She met his onslaught with one contemptuous sweep of her capable paw.  Rusty went rolling helplessly over on the rug; he picked himself up dazedly.  What sort of a cat was this who had boxed his ears?  He looked dubiously at the Sarah-cat.  Would he or would he not?  The Sarah-cat deliberately turned her back on him and resumed her toilet operations.  Rusty decided that he would not.  He never did.  From that time on the Sarah-cat ruled the roost.  Rusty never again interfered with her.

But Joseph rashly sat up and yawned.  Rusty, burning to avenge his disgrace, swooped down upon him.  Joseph, pacific by nature, could fight upon occasion and fight well.  The result was a series of drawn battles.  Every day Rusty and Joseph fought at sight.  Anne took Rusty’s part and detested Joseph.  Stella was in despair.  But Aunt Jamesina only laughed.

“Let them fight it out,” she said tolerantly.  “They’ll make friends after a bit.  Joseph needs some exercise—­he was getting too fat.  And Rusty has to learn he isn’t the only cat in the world.”

Eventually Joseph and Rusty accepted the situation and from sworn enemies became sworn friends.  They slept on the same cushion with their paws about each other, and gravely washed each other’s faces.

“We’ve all got used to each other,” said Phil.  “And I’ve learned how to wash dishes and sweep a floor.”

“But you needn’t try to make us believe you can chloroform a cat,” laughed Anne.

“It was all the fault of the knothole,” protested Phil.

“It was a good thing the knothole was there,” said Aunt Jamesina rather severely.  “Kittens have to be drowned, I admit, or the world would be overrun.  But no decent, grown-up cat should be done to death—­unless he sucks eggs.”

“You wouldn’t have thought Rusty very decent if you’d seen him when he came here,” said Stella.  “He positively looked like the Old Nick.”

“I don’t believe Old Nick can be so very, ugly” said Aunt Jamesina reflectively.  “He wouldn’t do so much harm if he was. I always think of him as a rather handsome gentleman.”

Chapter XVII

A Letter from Davy

“It’s beginning to snow, girls,” said Phil, coming in one November evening, “and there are the loveliest little stars and crosses all over the garden walk.  I never noticed before what exquisite things snowflakes really are.  One has time to notice things like that in the simple life.  Bless you all for permitting me to live it.  It’s really delightful to feel worried because butter has gone up five cents a pound.”

“Has it?” demanded Stella, who kept the household accounts.

“It has—­and here’s your butter.  I’m getting quite expert at marketing.  It’s better fun than flirting,” concluded Phil gravely.