The Kettle completed the party, but sat comfortably on the warm hob next the fire, drowsily singing snatches of song, in the knowledge of having done his duty in giving the thirsty Teapot a drink of water. So all was ready for tea except the children. Nurse had gone to collect them, when the Chinese Teapot, who always liked to appear important, suddenly exclaimed—
"What a noise that Kettle is making, to be sure! One could scarcely hear one's self rattle if one wanted to."
The Kettle, ignoring the protest, sang on—
"Just now we were quiet,
No noise and no riot,
You could hear a bread-plate drop—Flop!"
"We used to have a very nice English teapot once," remarked the Porcelain Cup.
"I remember," replied her neighbour from Margate. "He came from Worcestershire. He was a big pot, and thought himself no end of a swell."
"What! Kettle-time already!" exclaimed the Tongs, yawning and stretching his legs.
"A nice sort of life it is for one of my grade and standing," grumbled the Teapot, "to be surrounded by such a set of ugly, foreign mugs and things as you all are!"
There was a general rattling of displeasure at the insult, but it was drowned by the Kettle, who could see a joke, singing up merrily—
"If there's a fuss—if a Pot should allude
As a 'mug' to a China Cup,
There's always a clatter
Of jug, plate, and platter,
Till somebody washes them up."