'You are a very wise Cat,' answered her companion; 'but what good is it knowing all this?'
'Why, don't you see,' said she, 'they don't do it any more. We are going down in the world, we are, and that is why living on in this way is such an unsatisfactory sort of thing. I don't mean to complain for myself, and you needn't, Dog; we have a quiet life of it; but a quiet life is not the thing, and if there is nothing to be done except sleep and eat, and eat and sleep, why, as I said before, I don't see the use of it. There is something more in it than that; there was once, and there will be again, and I sha'n't be happy till I find it out. It is a shame, Dog, I say. The men have been here only a few thousand years, and we—why, we have been here hundreds of thousands; if we are older, we ought to be wiser. I'll go and ask the creatures in the wood.'
'You'll learn more from the men,' said the Dog.
'They are stupid, and they don't know what I say to them; besides, they are so conceited they care for nothing except themselves. No, I shall try what I can do in the woods. I'd as soon go after poor Tom as stay living any longer like this.'
'And where is poor Tom?' yawned the Dog.
'That is just one of the things I want to know,' answered she. 'Poor Tom is lying under the yard, or the skin of him, but whether that is the whole I don't feel so sure. They didn't think so in the city I told you about. It is a beautiful day, Dog; you won't take a trot out with me?' she added, wistfully.
'Who? I' said the Dog. 'Not quite.'
'You may get so wise,' said she.
'Wisdom is good,' said the Dog; 'but so is the hearth-rug, thank you!'
'But you may be free,' said she.