"Here we are again!" said the little Dog, bursting in through the door.
The Cat and Fiddle bowed and scraped to each other in the corner.
"Hey, diddle, diddle! The Dog has no manners," squeaked the Fiddle.
"No, indeed," said the Cat, politely.
"Spoon, my love," began the Dish again, "what a miserable life we lead. Laid down to do the same old things over and over again. Though twice a day your elegant figure approaches mine, and I see myself reflected in your shining countenance, yet have I never a chance of telling you how much I admire you. We have never any opportunity for amusement, or private conversation. Though you do occasionally scrape me, just to show me how much you love me. Yet, oh my Spoon, that is not enough. I am weary, oh my Spoon, of being laid on a dresser or a table. I loathe that my beautiful form should be covered with gravy or soapy water. Oh, my Spoon, in these few hours that are before us, let us forget our miserable and monotonous existence. Let us show the world that we can twirl and spin with the best of them. Let us dance, my love, let us dance, and," he continued, pursing his lips, and lowering his voice to a whisper, "when the fun is at its highest, let us run away from here altogether, and get married and live happily ever after," and he twirled round on his edge, just to show what he could do.
"Yours is a delightful plan, my sweet!" said the Spoon. "You are indeed a lordly Dish," and she simpered charmingly.
"I could think of as good a plan as that and a better," bellowed the Cow through the window. "I could think of a plan as big as the sky."
"What's the odds, so long as we're happy!" chortled the little Dog.
"Hey, diddle, diddle! how vulgar he is!" squeaked the Fiddle.
"I quite agree with you," said the Cat, politely.