“Pleased to meet you,” said the cat. “Will you sing something?” The cat knew perfectly well, of course, that camels cannot sing; it wanted to make the animal return the polite inquiry, and so get a chance of letting off an erotic song which it had learned in the stables. But the camel was not such a fool as that. “I dislike music,” he said. “I went in search of culture, and never got started. I also went in search of domesticity, and never got started. I am now going on a third pilgrimage,--but it will not be in search of music.” “Do you like milk?” said the cat rather inconsequently. “No,” said the camel. “Do you like being scratched under the left ear?” “No,” said the camel. “Can you catch mice and kill them slowly?” “Look here,” said the camel, now justly irritated, “you’re not the Catechism, and you’re not the Census; what’s the point of all these questions?” “I was going,” replied the cat, rather aggrieved, “to suggest some object for your pilgrimage, and I wished to see what you liked.” “Well, if that’s all,” said the camel, “I’ve quite made up my mind. I am going to search for death. I shall start, if the tide serves, at six a.m. to-morrow morning.” But he didn’t, because he died that night. And as he arrived without ever starting, it has been argued by some that he must have been a genius. If he had stuck half-way without ever arriving, he would have been only a camel of considerable talent. But these things may be otherwise. Things generally are. * * * * * “Has that story got an inner meaning?” asked Terpsichore. “Yes,” said Thalia. “What is it?” “Don’t know,” said Thalia. “If you do know, you ought to say,” remarked Clio. “I do not think the story is quite--quite--well, you know.” “No, I don’t,” said Thalia. “Nor do I,” said Terpsichore. They were just going to quarrel a little more, when Euterpe exclaimed: “Look, Erato, the dawn is breaking; it is already a little lighter in the East.” She added gently, after a pause, “Don’t you think you had better go to bed now, Cupid?” “No, no,” said Cupid, “I want to stay with my darling Erato. I love you, too, Euterpe, but I love Erato more than anything else in the whole world.” “Then come and kiss me--again, and again,” said Erato. VIII. URANIA’S STORY: NUMBER ONE HUNDRED AND THREE. “Yes,” said Clio, “it will soon be morning. There will be time only for one more story. Urania shall tell it to us. Do you not think that you had better go and rest now, Erato? You look so tired.”