Just then, patter, patter, patter, came a few large drops through the leaves; the magpie, making a prodigious chattering, and declaring that a tremendous storm was coming on, flew down from the bough; and whispering to the cat not to mind what the owl said,--“a stupid old bird,”--she hid herself, very snugly, in a hollow place in the trunk--not at all sorry, to tell the truth, to end the conversation. The owl nestled himself in a thick bush of ivy that grew near, and the cat ran into the cottage, to sit by the fire and reflect, for between her two friends her mind was a little puzzled. The old woman shut the cottage door, heaped some dry fir logs on the fire, and sat down to her spinning-wheel. The rain pelted against the shutters, the wind howled in the tree tops, and roared loudly in the forest behind the hut; it was a terrible night out of doors, but within the cottage it was snug enough; the fire was blazing merrily, the old woman’s wheel turned briskly round, the kettle was singing a low, quiet song to itself beside the crackling logs, and the cat was sitting on the hearth looking warm and comfortable. But she was not at all comfortable in her mind, for discontented people seldom are. It never entered her head to consider whether there were any poor cats abroad that night, without a shelter over them. In fact, she could think of nothing just at this time but the luxuries enjoyed by the fortunate cats who might happen to be born in grand palaces: so, curled up in the warmest corner of the hearth, she sat watching the little spouts of flame that kept flashing up from the pine logs, and wishing for the hundredth time that day, that she had had the good luck to be a palace cat. Presently a very strange thing happened. All of a sudden, she felt something very lightly touch her coat, and looking round, there stood, close by her, the most beautiful little thing that anybody ever dreamt of. She was not many inches high, her robe seemed made of gold and silver threads fine as gossamer, woven together. On her head she wore a circlet of diamonds, so small and bright that they looked like sparks of fire, and in her tiny hand she bore a long and very slight silver wand. The cat looked at her with astonishment; it was very odd that the old woman did not seem to see her at all. The beautiful little lady looked at the cat for a minute or two very steadily; and then said, “You are wishing for something; what is it?” By this time the cat had recovered from her fright, and was able to speak, so she answered, “Please your Majesty, whoever you are, you have guessed right for once--I _am_ wishing for something. I wish to live in the Palace of the magpie’s grand Countess!”