Nurse Smith wondered sometimes that she now spent all her money on cakes, she concluded that they must be for a dolls' feast, and troubled herself no further. Miss Ruth was always so fond of "making believe." So things went on very quietly and comfortably, and though Ruth could not discover that the kitchen cat got any fatter, it had certainly improved in some ways since her attentions. Its face had lost its scared look, and it no longer crept about as close to the ground as possible, but walked with an assured tread and its tail held high. It could never be a pretty cat to the general eye, but when it came trotting noiselessly to meet Ruth, uttering its short mew of welcome, she thought it beautiful, and would not have changed it for the sleekest, handsomest cat in the kingdom. But it was the kitchen cat still. All this did not bring it one step nearer to the nursery. It must still live, Ruth often thought with sorrow, amongst the rats and mice and beetles. Nothing could ever happen which would induce Nurse Smith to allow it to come upstairs. And yet something did happen which brought this very thing to pass in a strange way which would never have entered her mind. The spring came on with a bright sun and cold sharp winds, and one day Ruth came in from her walk feeling shivery and tired. She could not eat her dinner, and her head had a dull ache in it, and she thought she would like to go to bed. She did not feel ill, she said, but she was first very hot and then very cold. Nurse Smith sent for the doctor; and he came and looked kindly at her, and felt her pulse and said she must stay in bed and he would send some medicine. And she went to sleep, and had funny dreams in which she plainly saw the kitchen cat dressed in Aunt Clarkson's bonnet and cloak. It stood by her bed and talked in Aunt Clarkson's voice, and she saw its grey fur paws under the folds of the cloak. She wished it would go away, and wondered how she could have been so fond of it. When Nurse came to give her something she said feebly: "Send the cat away." "Bless you, my dear, there's no cat here," she answered. "There's nobody been here but me and Mrs Clarkson." At last there came a day when she woke up from a long sleep and found that the pain in her head was gone, and that the things in the room which had been taking all manner of queer shapes looked all right again. "And how do you feel, Miss Ruth, my dear?" asked Nurse, who sat sewing by the bedside. "I'm quite well, thank you," said Ruth. "Why am I in bed in the middle of the day?" "Well, you haven't been just quite well, you know," said Nurse. "Haven't I?" said Ruth. She considered this for some time, and when Nurse came to her with some beef-tea in her hand, she asked: "Have I been in bed more than a day?" "You've been in bed a week," said Nurse. "But you'll get along finely now, and be up and about again in no time."