A very curious thing happened to me at half-past four, yesterday. Three visitors came knocking at my door, begging me to let them in. And when I opened the door, who do you think they were?
You'll never guess.
Why, they were three cats! Wasn't it curious? However, they all looked so cross and disagreeable that I took up the first thing I could lay my hand on (which happened to be the rolling-pin) and knocked them all down as flat as pancakes!
That was fair, wasn't it?
Of course I didn't leave them lying flat on the ground, like dried flowers: no, I picked them up, and I was as kind as I could be to them. I lent them the portfolio for a bed - they wouldn't have been comfortable in a real bed, you know: they were too thin - but they were quite happy between the sheets of blotting-paper - and each of them had a pen-wiper for a pillow. Well, then I went to bed: but first I lent them the three dinner-bells to ring if they wanted anything in the night.
You know I have three dinner-bells - the first (which is the largest) is rung when dinner is nearly ready; the second (which is rather larger) is rung when it is quite ready; and the third (which is as large as the other two put together) is rung all the time I am at dinner. And I told them they must ring if they happened to want anything.
And, as they rang all the bells all night, I suppose they did want something or other, only I was too sleepy to attend to them.
In the morning I gave them some rat-tail jelly and buttered mice for breakfast and they were as discontented as they could be. And, do you know, when I had gone out for a walk, they got all my books out of the bookcase, and opened them at page 50, because they thought that would be a nice useful page to begin at. It was rather unfortunate, though: because they took my bottle of gum and tried to gum pictures upon the ceiling (which they thought would please me). They accidentally spilt a quantity of it all over the books. So when they were shut up and put by, the leaves all stuck together, and I can never read page 50 again in any of them!
However, they meant it very kindly, so i wasn't angry. I gave them each a spoonful of ink as a treat; but they were ungrateful for that and made the most dreadful faces. But, of course, as it was given them for a treat, they had to drink it. One of them has turned black since: it was a white cat to begin with.
They wanted some boiled pelican, but, of course, I know it wouldn't be good for them. So all I said was "Go to Agnes Hughes, and if it's really good for you she'll give you some."
Then I shook hands with them all, and wished them good-bye, and drove them up the chimney. They seemed very sorry to go.