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Ewing, Juliana Horatia Gatty, 1841-1885

"A Flat Iron for a Farthing or Some Passages in the Life of an only Son"


Then the sound stopped. I could hardly breathe, and had just resolved
upon making a brave sally for assistance, when--plump! _something_
alighted on my bed, and, wildly impossible as it seemed, Rubens
himself waggled up to my pillow, and began licking my face as if his
life depended on laying my nose and all other projecting parts of my
countenance flat with my cheeks.
How he had got to London we never knew. As he made an easy escape from
the coach-house at Dacrefield, it was always supposed that he simply
followed the carriage, and had the wit to hide himself when we
stopped on the road. He was terribly tired. He might well be thirsty!
I levied large contributions on the box of rusks which Aunt Maria had
left by my bedside, for his benefit, and he supped well.
Then he curled himself up in his own proper place at my feet. He was
intensely self-satisfied, and expressed his high idea of his own
exploit by self-gratulatory "grumphs," as after describing many mystic
circles, and scraping up the fair Marseilles quilt on some plan of his
own, he brought his nose and tail together in a satisfactory position
in his nest, and we passed our first night in London in dreamless and
profound sleep.


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