the consequences, and that she
hoped _some_ good ones, at least, would follow from her going out that
morning.--'Though, indeed,' she added, 'I have been seeing some very
sad things.'

'Then, as sure as cream is cream,' exclaimed Glumdalkin, quite
fiercely, 'you've been talking to that good-for-nothing wretch of a
cat again. I am astonished at you, Friskarina!'

'Now, my dear cousin,' answered Friskarina, very quietly, 'just hear
me--let us talk the matter over a little: I am sure you would feel
just as I do about it, if you had been with me this morning.'

'Humph,' muttered Glumdalkin, '_I'm_ not sure of that at all. But,
tell your story, child. We shan't have any peace, I suppose, till you
have.'

Friskarina gulphed down a rather sharp speech that was just at the end
of her tongue, and went on with the recital of her adventures:--'I
have certainly seen the poor cat; and the cottage, too, in which she
lives--O Glumdalkin! such a place it is, you never saw anything like
it; there was not a bit of fire on the hearth, and in one corner there
lay a woman on a heap of straw, with an old rug over her. She was not
at all like the princess, or the maids of honor, for she had such a
thin white face, and such skinny hands, it was dreadful to look at
her--she was quite as thin as the poor cat: and the old woman, I mean
the cat's mistress, was stooping over her, and giving her something
out of a broken cup. Poor old woman! she groaned so, when she looked
at her, that it really went to my heart to hear her.'

'And pray,' interrupted Glumdalkin, 'what's all this to us? I do think
you take quite a delight in making one low spirited; as if the day
wasn't quite dismal enough already. Of course, one's very sorry for
the people, and all that sort of thing, but what good can _you_ do, I
should like to know, poking your nose into such places? You can't do
anything for them; and why should you put yourself into such a
ridiculous fuss? If you were the princess, now, you _might_ help the
people--but you, a cat, what can you do? It's no concern of yours.'

'It is too true,' sighed Friskarina, 'I can do no good to the old
woman and her sick daughter; but, with your leave, Cousin Glumdalkin,
I _can_ do something for the poor cat, and that will be better than
nothing: if one can't do what one would, one ought to do what one can.
And now, my dear good Cousin Glumdalkin, I want you to lend me a
helping paw, if you please.'

'Well, what no