'Thank you,' replied the cat, in a rather melancholy tone; 'I am perfectly well.'
'Then what in the world ails you, my dear friend?'
'I don't know,' answered the cat; 'but I believe I am getting rather tired of staying here all my life.'
'Ah!' exclaimed the magpie, 'I know what that is—I feel for you, puss! you may well be moped, living in that stupid cottage all day. You are not like myself, now; I have had such advantages! I declare to you I can amuse myself the whole day with the recollection of the wonderful things I have seen when I lived in the great world.'
'There it is!' interrupted the cat; 'to think of the difference in people's situations! Just compare my condition, in this wretched hole of a hut, with the life that you say the countess's cat lives. I'm sure I can hardly eat my sop in the morning for thinking of her buttered crumpets—dear! dear! it's a fine thing to be born in a palace!'
'Indeed,' replied the magpie, 'there is a great deal of truth in what you say; and sometimes I half repent of having retired from her service myself; but there's a great charm in liberty—it is pleasant to feel able to fly about wherever one likes, and have no impertinent questions asked.'
'Does the countess's cat ever do any work?' inquired puss.
'Not a bit,' answered the magpie. 'I don't suppose she ever caught a mouse in her life; why should she? She has plenty to eat and drink, and nothing to do but to sleep or play all day long.'
'What a life!' ejaculated the cat; 'and here am I, obliged to take the trouble to catch birds or anything I can, if I want to make out my dinner,—what a world it is!'
'Your most obedient servant, ladies!' just at that moment hooted an old owl from a neighboring fir-tree; 'a fine evening to you!'