So I said, "Get thee behind me, Mir-row!" as I ought to have done at first. Because Mir-row had always been so naughty that she tempted me to blame her for breaking it. If she had been a good cat, then such a thing would never have entered my head. But her character was against her.
You see, I knew that I had only to say, "Mir-row did it," to get believed. Because she was always doing wicked things like that.
Then I went up-stairs, running as hard as I could to get away from the wicked Mir-row, who was tempting me to tell a story. I ran to find Somebody to 'fess' to. And I found Somebody. And Somebody listened, and then rose up looking quite grave, but very kind. Oh, I was shaking ever so, till Somebody took me in such nice strong arms, and said that as I had come at once, and had not even thought of trying to escape the blame or to put it on anybody else, I should not be punished—though it certainly was a great, great pity.
But I never told about Mir-row, or how nearly it had happened otherwise.
And as for Mir-row, she said nothing either. She just curled herself up on the carpet among the broken pieces of the vase, and when we went down was peacefully dreaming of catching mice. I knew she was by the way she had of thrusting out her claws and pulling them in again.
No, Mir-row did not deserve all that I had done for her.
But, after all, honesty is a better policy than blaming things on Mir-row.
This is the story of my first temptation, and how I was saved from the wickedness of Mir-row.