ged was this ferocious monster at the escape of my sister that
she ground her fangs viciously together, and vowed to take no pleasure
in life until she held in her devouring jaws the innocent little mouse
which belonged to the mangled bit of tail she even then clutched in
her remorseless claws."

"Yes," said the old clock, "now that you recall the incident, I
recollect it well. I was here then, in this very corner, and I
remember that I laughed at the cat and chided her for her awkwardness.
My reproaches irritated her; she told me that a clock's duty was to
run itself down, _not_ to be depreciating the merits of others! Yes, I
recall the time; that cat's tongue is fully as sharp as her claws."

"Be that as it may," said the little mauve mouse, "it is a matter of
history, and therefore beyond dispute, that from that very moment the
cat pined for Squeaknibble's life; it seemed as if that one little
two-inch taste of Squeaknibble's tail had filled the cat with a
consuming passion, or appetite, for the rest of Squeaknibble. So the
cat waited and watched and hunted and schemed and devised and did
everything possible for a cat--a cruel cat--to do in order to gain her
murderous ends. One night--one fatal Christmas eve--our mother had
undressed the children for bed, and was urging upon them to go to
sleep earlier than usual, since she fully expected that Santa Claus
would bring each of them something very palatable and nice before
morning. Thereupon the little dears whisked their cunning tails,
pricked up their beautiful ears, and began telling one another what
they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for a slice of
Roquefort, another for Neufchatel, another for Sap Sago, and a fourth
for Edam; one expressed a preference for de Brie, while another hoped
to get Parmesan; one clamored for imperial blue Stilton, and another
craved the fragrant boon of Caprera. There were fourteen little ones
then, and consequently there were diverse opinions as to the kind of
gift which Santa Claus should best bring; still, there was, as you can
readily understand, an enthusiastic unanimity upon this point, namely,
that the gift should be cheese of some brand or other.

"'My dears,' said our mother, 'what matters it whether the boon which
Santa Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage de Bricquebec,
Vermont sage, or Herkimer County skim-milk? We should be content with
whatsoever Santa Claus bestows, so long as it be cheese, disjoine