'Don't bother me,' said the Dog, 'I am tired. I stood on my hind legs ten minutes this morning before I could get my breakfast, and it hasn't agreed with me.'
'Who told you to do it?' said the Cat.
'Why, the lady I have to take care of me,' replied the Dog.
'Do you feel any better for it, Dog, after you have been standing on your legs?' asked she.
'Hav'n't I told you, you stupid Cat, that it hasn't agreed with me; let me go to sleep and don't plague me.'
'But I mean,' persisted the Cat, 'do you feel improved, as the men call it? They tell their children that if they do what they are told they will improve, and grow good and great. Do you feel good and great?'
'What do I know?' said the Dog. 'I eat my breakfast and am happy. Let me alone.'
'Do you never think, oh Dog without a soul! Do you never wonder what dogs are, and what this world is?'
The Dog stretched himself, and rolled his eyes lazily round the room. 'I conceive,' he said, 'that the world is for dogs, and men and women are put into it to take care of dogs; women to take care of little dogs like me, and men for the big dogs like those in the yard—and cats,' he continued, 'are to know their place, and not to be troublesome.'
'They beat you sometimes,' said the Cat. 'Why do they do that? They never beat me.'