The Kitten was born on a Whitsunday morning about eight o'clock. Mr Ffolliot went himself to announce the news to Ger, who was sitting in his high chair eating bread and milk at nursery breakfast. Ger was all alone with Thirza, the under-nurse, and he was thunderstruck to see his father at such an unusual hour, above all, in such an unusual place as his nursery. "Ger," said Mr Ffolliot, quite genially for him, "you've got a new little sister." Ger regarded his father solemnly with large, mournful eyes, then said aggrievedly, "Well, _I_ can't help it." Mr Ffolliot laughed. "You don't seem overjoyed," he remarked. "Are you sorry, father?" Ger asked anxiously. "Sorry," Mr Ffolliot repeated, "of course not; why should you think I'm sorry?" "Well, you see," said Ger, "it makes another of us." Mr Ffolliot ignored this remark. He moved towards the door. At the door he paused; "You may," he said graciously, "go and see your little sister in an hour or two; mother said so." As the door was closed behind him, Thirza sat down again with a sort of gasp. "Whatever did you mean, my dear, talking to Squire like that?" she demanded shrilly. "Like what?" asked Ger. "Sayin' as it wasn't your fault, and seemin' so down about it all. Why, you ought to be glad there's a dear little new baby, and you such an affectionate child an' all." "It makes another of us," Ger persisted, and Thirza gave him up as an enigma. In due time he went to the dressing-room off the big spare bedroom, and there sat the kind, comfortable lady he knew as "mother's nurse" (Ger had not seen her as often as the others, but still she came from time to time "just to see how they were all getting on," and he liked her). There she sat on a small rocking-chair with a bundle on her knee. "Come, my darling, and see your little sister," she cried cheerfully. Ger advanced. She opened the head flannel and displayed a small, dark head, and a red, puckered countenance. "When will she be able to see?" asked Ger. As if in answer the baby opened a pair of large dark eyes and stared fixedly at the round, earnest face bent above her. "See, bless you!" mother's nurse exclaimed, "see! why, she isn't a kitten. She can see right enough. Look how she's taking you in. She has stared about from the minute she was born, as if she'd been here before and was looking round to see that things were all the same. She's the living image of Squire." "I think she's rather like a kitten," Ger persisted, "but I'm glad she can see. I think she likes me rather." And that was how the Kitten got her name. She was not a Grantly. She was all Ffolliot, and she was the only one of the children absolutely fearless in the presence of her father.