A murmur of dissent arose at this statement, and Wutz-Butz hastily explained.
“I mean,” he said, quickly, “in principle. In principle there is no difference between a mouse and a village, except in size. That difference is evened up by there being so many of us. One cat catches the little mouse; many cats catch the large village. And there you are! The only way for us to do is to march softly to Dog Corners, and when we get there to form a circle all around it. Then we must crouch down, fix our eyes on the village—it will be awful! A lot of big, staring eyes all around the walls! Then we must prick our ears forward, moving them a little at the tips, to catch every sound, and keep our whiskers stiff, and the tips of our tails moving, moving ever so little. We must hold our muscles taut, ready! And then I will give a tiny, tiny spit, and then—Like one cat we must pounce together, up in the air and down on the village, claws out and backs stiff! And then Dog Corners will be taken!”
All the soldiers purred together, like the roll of a drum. The programme as laid out by their general sounded so attractive!
“Are you ready?” cried ’Clipsy, facing the troops.
“Yes!” shouted the army, as one cat.
“Will you follow us to danger and—if need be—to death?” demanded ’Clipsy.
“Yes, yes, miauw, miauw!” shrieked the soldiers, deeply stirred.
“Then forward! March!” cried Wutz-Butz, wheeling about and taking a few steps in the direction of Dog Corners.
Instantly the column was in motion, and soon the women and children cats left behind in Purrington could see only tips of tails proudly waving in the air, which, an instant later, were lost to sight in a cloud of dust.
The army marched at double-quick through the woods, the padded feet of the soldiers making no sound on the dry leaves and pine-needle carpet over which they marched.