So she sang a pretty little song she had just composed, and a very charming ditty it was—rather shrill, perhaps, but very well sung indeed. After this, I need hardly tell you that they enjoyed themselves amazingly. Perhaps Mr. Rat drank rather too much beer; but altogether it was a very pleasant little party, and Froggy had so far got over his bashfulness as to squeeze Mrs. Mousey's paw once or twice rather tenderly.
But while they were thus happily employed, a terrible old cat who lived in the neighbourhood, and went by the name of "Browzer," was tying on her shawl—calling to her kittens, and saying,
"Come, my children, it is a fine day—let us go for a walk. Make haste, for something tells me we shall find some dinner on our way."
And sure enough they did; for after looking after little birds, and trying the windows of all the pantries they knew,—
"B-row!" said the Cat, snuffing the air; "do you know—I'm not quite certain—but—yes, really—I smell mouse."
"Mew!" said the kittens; "we're so glad."
"And I think, also, rat."
"Oh, come along!" said the kittens.
"Don't make a noise," whispered the Cat.
Slowly and cautiously they crept on towards Mrs. Mousey's cottage, till at an unexpected moment, and just as Mrs. Mouse was going to get a fresh mug of beer, in tumbled the Cat and her kittens. Down went the Rat under the Cat's paw—up in a corner the two kittens got the Mouse.