“What was that?” said Tommy Smith, as he sat up in bed. “That wasn’t the clock;” and then, all at once, the old clock on the stairs struck one. “One? Then it must be wrong. When I got into bed it was only”—
“It is quite right,” said a squeaky little voice close to Tommy Smith’s ear, “I don’t know what time it was when you got into bed, but you have been asleep for a good many hours; and now it is one in the morning, which is what I call a nice, comfortable time.”
“I suppose you are the rat,” said Tommy Smith, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, I am,” the same voice answered. “But it is too dark for you to see me here. Get up, and put on some of your clothes, and then we will come down to the kitchen. The fire is not quite out, and you can put a few more sticks on it. Then you will be able to see me as well as I can see you now, and we can talk together comfortably.”
PAT, PAT, PAT. “DO YOU HEAR?”
“But can you see in the dark?” said Tommy Smith, whilst he sat on the bed and began to put on his stockings.
“Oh yes,” the rat answered; “just as well as I can in the light.”
“I wish I could,” said Tommy Smith, “for I can’t see you at all.”