It was drawing towards sunset; there had been several storms during the day, but, as the evening came on, the weather had cleared up a little, and a gleam of sunshine just then shot out from among the black clouds, and fell upon something glittering beside her. She lifted her eyes slowly, for she had no strength to be alert now, and saw the bright and beautiful fairy, with her car drawn by the silver pheasants. “Have you learnt yet to be contented with plain fare at home?” asked the fairy. “Oh, if you would only take me back to my old mistress,” cried the poor cat, “I should never, never be discontented again!” The fairy smiled, and touching her lightly with her silver wand, bade her close her eyes--another moment, and she bade her open them: and--most wonderful of all wonderful things that had happened to her--the trees, the country, the distant city, all were gone! There was a fine log-fire on the hearth, sparkling and crackling; whirr, whirr, whirr, went the old woman’s wheel, and there she sat in her chair just as usual. The wind was blowing and the rain was pelting against the shutters, exactly as it had done the night puss left the cottage in such a strange way. In fact, everything looked entirely the same. The cat rubbed her eyes, but nothing could she see of the fairy, or the car, or the silver pheasants. How had she got back, and so quick, too? And the old woman did not seem at all surprised to see her. It was very odd! She could not make it out, anyhow; and at last it struck her that perhaps she might have been dreaming, and never been out of the hut at all. Yet those terrible growls of Viper’s, and those dismal nights and days in the trees! No, they must have been real! But her puzzling was broken into by the cheerful voice of her old mistress, calling out, “Come, my pussy! It is supper-time!” As she spoke, she rose from her spinning-wheel, and taking down some eggs and a cake of brown bread, with a large jug from her corner cupboard, she broke the eggs into the frying-pan, and they were soon hissing and sputtering over the fire. Then she placed a large saucer on the table, and broke some bread into it; and, turning to the fire, she took off the frying-pan, and emptied the eggs into a dish on the table, and sat down to her supper. But before she tasted a bit herself, she poured some nice goat’s milk over the bread, and set it down on the hearth before the cat. Now I will venture to say puss never before in her life ate a meal so thankfully. She made a resolution after every mouthful never to say one word to that silly, chattering magpie again; and never to wish any more foolish wishes, but to stay at home, do her duty in catching her mistress’s mice, and be contented and thankful for the brown bread and milk, without troubling her head about countesses and buttered crumpets any more.