At last I left off seeing through, by trying not to do so, and went back to the house, where I found all safe and quiet.
I ought to say that I had not as yet tried speaking to any animal, even to the cat when she scratched me, but I thought I would try it now. So when she came in at dinner-time and circled about, with what I may call pious aspirations about fish and other such things, I summoned up my courage and said (using my voice in the way I described, or rather did not describe, before):
“I used to be told, ‘If you are hungry, you can eat dry bread.’”
She was certainly horribly startled. At first I thought she would have dashed up the chimney or out of the window; but she recovered pretty quickly and sat down, still looking at me with intense surprise.
“I suppose I might have guessed,” she said; “but dear! what a turn you did give me! I feel quite faint; and gracious! what a day it has been! When I found you dozing off like a great—— Well, no one wants to be rude, do they? but I can tell you I had more than half a mind to go at your face.”
“I am glad you didn't,” I said; “and really, you know, it wasn't my fault: it was that stuff they were burning on the path.”
“I know that well enough,” she said; “but to come back to the point, all this anxiety has made me as empty in myself as a clean saucer.”
“Just what I was saying; if you are hungry, you can——”
“Say that again, say it just once more,” she said, and her eyes grew narrow as she said it, “and I shall——”
“What shall you do?” I asked, for she stopped suddenly.