"Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. dear," she was wont to say ominously,
"that cat will come to no good."

"But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask.

"I do not think--I know," was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe.

With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he was
so very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to be
seen on his beautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring and
snuggling; he was scrupulously honest.

And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frost had
kittens!

It would be vain to try to picture Susan's triumph. Had she not always
insisted that that cat would turn out to be a delusion and a snare? Now
they could see for themselves!

Rilla kept one of the kittens, a very pretty one, with peculiarly sleek
glossy fur of a dark yellow crossed by orange stripes, and large,
satiny, golden ears. She called it Goldie and the name seemed
appropriate enough to the little frolicsome creature which, during its
kittenhood, gave no indication of the sinister nature it really
possessed. Susan, of course, warned the family that no good could be
expected from any offspring of that diabolical Jack Frost; but Susan's
Cassandra-like croakings were unheeded.

The Blythes had been so accustomed to regard Jack Frost as a member of