The Elder of the Fishes
While the little husband and wife were discussing this in low voices so as not to disturb the Historian, the elder of the Fishes flew in. With great difficulty it scraped through the small hole instead of its own. It flew to its perch, and announced in a clear voice:
"Three o'clock has struck."
It said these words to a Hen who was sitting upon a coal-scuttle, busily making little white and yellow pasties.
The Hen
Having made this announcement the Fish pulled down its eyelids with its left paw, buried its nose in a nightcap, wrapped its wings round its head, and went to sleep. The Hen seemed very agitated by the Fish's words, and began to work harder than ever.
She wore a peruke like all the Wigs, and an infinite number of skirts made of butter muslin. She looked at the clock, for the big hand had stopped at two, whereas the little hand was at the hour of three. While she gazed at it the left foot of the Historian shot out and brought the little hand round to six o'clock.