The Magic Pudding
"Snip," wheezed Pajuka mournfully, "when I am cooked and eaten, will you save a few of my feathers for Ozma? And if you find the King will you tell him that old Pajuka was faithful to—to—the last?"
In spite of himself the poor goose's voice broke and ended in a great gulp.
"When they get through with me there'll be just enough feathers left to stuff a pillow," choked Pajuka.
"Don't!" begged the little button boy, flinging his arms around his friend's neck. "Besides, if I'm to be chased and scratched by all those cats, there won't be anything left of me at all."
"I'll nip off their tails, I'll snatch out their whiskers!" raged Pajuka, thrusting his bill through the bars of their prison. The two had been thrown unceremoniously into a small summer house at the end of the Queen's garden. It was surrounded by cat guards, so their chances for escape were cut off on every side.
"Maybe something'll happen," sighed Snip, pressing his nose against the slats. It had been late afternoon when they reached Catty Corners and in the gathering gloom the giant cats, parading up and down, looked like some dreadful sort of goblins. Turning back to Pajuka for comfort, Snip was horrified to see that the goose had drawn up one foot and closed his eyes.
"Don't fall asleep, Pajuka," begged the little boy, shaking him frantically. "Don't fall asleep and leave me all alone."
"Can't help it Snip—hah hoh! This is what comes of being a goose—hum!" yawned the poor prime minister. He blinked rapidly, stamped both feet and fluttered his feathers, but it was no use. His eyes simply would not stay open.