Then the whole company shouted,
“Oh Grandpa Growler, the secret is out,
’Tis Mother Catastrophe, without a doubt.”
Sure enough, Old Uncle Mouser was wheeling Old Mother Catastrophe nearer and nearer every minute.
He kept saying over and over, “I hope no one has taken my red plush-lined basket, I hope no one has taken my red plush-lined basket.”
They came in, and Old Mother Catastrophe shook the dust off her fur and whiskers and she said every one looked to her as big as life and twice as natural.
Then the Ground-Hog came in muttering about his shadow, but the Beaver sent a note of regret for he was too shy for company.
I do not suppose they would have had a bit to eat for refreshment if The Little Old Man of the Fire had not been there.
He sang to the Three Little Kittens so softly that no one else heard,
“Coffee, some sugar, and tea will do,