"My dear mamma," said William Dormer, as he stood by his mother's knee, "have you no more pretty stories to relate?"
"Let me see," said Mrs. Dormer, "but I think I must have almost exhausted my stock. Beauty and the Beast, I told you yesterday; the Yellow Dwarf you know by heart, for you were telling it the other day to your cousin; and as for Puss in Boots, the Sleeping Beauty, and Whittington and his Cat, you know them nearly as well as I do.
"However," added she, "I will endeavour to recollect something else; but this is not the proper time for me to relate tales. When you have done the sum which your papa has given you, and Mary has finished her copy—and when Lewis has learned his lesson—when all this is done—why, perhaps, by that time, I shall have thought of a new story."
This observation produced the desired effect. Lewis, who had been previously winding some thread about his fingers, began to apply himself diligently to his task; William paid strict attention to his cyphering, till it was completed; and Mary acquitted herself better than usual in writing. The children then reminded their kind mother of her promise, and anxiously inquired what story she had recollected.
"You are very fond of fairy tales," said Mrs. Dormer, "and I am now going to relate one, which is called 'The Fairy Kitten.'"
"Oh dear!" said William, "did she catch mice? I never heard of fairies keeping cats before."
"Remember the White Cat," said Lewis, "I dare say she was one of her kittens."
"Have patience," said Mrs. Dormer, "and you shall hear.