When the cook had prepared it for broiling.
And so, near a dish of warm toast,
She often most patiently lingered,
To seize her first chance; yet, could boast
That none ever called her light-fingered.
But mending, or minding herself,
She thought would be quite too much labor,
And so peeped about on the shelf,
To spy out the faults of her neighbor.
For Mouse loved to promenade there,