‘It really _is_ good,’ said the Mischief-Maker. ‘Give me a small pot of it, that I may take it home to my children.’ While the shop-keeper was filling a small new pot, over which he tied a fresh green leaf, the people who had been following, came up, and said, ‘Sir, you are only making game of us; you are giving us no proof of what you said. What mischief is there in buying a little pot of honey?’ ‘Be quiet, my good people, and content yourselves for a couple of minutes, while I get my change, and put my purchase in a safe place, and you will soon see something—wait here, and I’ll be back to you directly.’ The Mischief-Maker vanished in an instant! Now it happened that this shop was a mere shed of a place, projecting into the street, from the wall on which the honey had been thrown; nor had the tempting bait been long there, before it was smelt out by a large hungry fly, which had been spending many fruitless hours buzzing about the dealer’s jar, so carefully was it always covered. Here was a glorious opportunity for a fine supper, and down he came upon it with eager appetite—without looking about him as he ought—for over his head, under the cover of the wall, among old chinks and cobwebs, there dwelt a wily, dust-coloured lizard, who enjoyed a fly beyond everything else in the world, and had been particularly unsuccessful in fly-catching all day. Watching, therefore, till the fly had buried his mining apparatus pretty deep in the honey, he crept down quietly, looking as like a bit of old plaster as possible, but for those bright eyes of his, which in his eagerness for the capture, were intently fixed upon the fly. Unlucky wight! Little did he think that those very eyes had attracted the attention of a fine tabby cat, who but a few minutes before, with blinking eyes, presented a perfect picture of contentment, but now roused by a sudden temptation, was crouching stealthily down as she beheld the lizard, for whom she had so often watched in vain. Down stole the lizard—on stole the cat; so that here at the same moment were three creatures so bent upon indulgence, that they never even thought of looking about them! But were these three all the parties to be engaged? Alas! no. There was a sworn enemy of the cat’s approaching also (under cover of a large basket), in the shape of a mischievous white dog, kept by a very quarrelsome man on the other side of the street. This dog was the terror of all the cats in the neighbourhood, and most of all, of the flour-dealer’s; so often had he chased her, and so often experienced the bitter disappointment of seeing her climbing up the posts of the shop, and then spitting at him from the top of the shed.