The Little Emperor had never been out in the snow before except when he was dressed in his warm padded clothes, with one Gentleman-In-Waiting carrying his porcelain stove, and another bringing tea, and a third with cakes in a box of yellow lacquer, and a fourth holding between the snowflakes and the Imperial head a great, moss-green umbrella. So small and helpless in so big and cold a world, what could a little boy find to eat or drink? Where could he warm himself? He ran frantically through the snow. The rose-colored ribbons that tied his pantaloons came untied and trailed behind him, and the cold snow went up his bare legs. Pausing to catch his sobbing breath, he looked up to see the thick snow sliding from a pine tree branch, and jumped aside just in time to keep from being buried beneath it. Then on he plunged again, growing with each step more weak and cold and hungry; stopping now and then to call for help in a quavering voice that grew feebler every time; blinking back the tears that froze on his lashes as he tried to remember that emperors must never cry; then struggling on through the blinding snow, a little boy lost and alone. Then, as it began to grow dark, he saw two great lanterns shining through the snow, coming slowly nearer. Perhaps his aunt and his Chief Gentleman-In-Waiting, Lord Mighty Swishing Dragon’s Tail (Lord Dragon Tail, for short) had missed him and had come with lanterns to look for him! He tried to go toward them, to call, but he was too exhausted to move or make a sound. And then, imagine his terror when he realized that the glowing green lights were not lanterns at all, but the eyes of a great crouching animal—a cat! Gathering all his strength for one last desperate effort, he tried to run. But with a leap the cat was after him, and with a paw now rolled into a velvet ball, now unsheathing sharp curved claws, tapped him first on one side, then on the other, nearly let him go, caught him again with one bound, and with a harder blow sent him spinning into stars and darkness. Some one was shaking him. Was it the cat? The Little Emperor opened his eyes and saw the frightened face of Princess Autumn Cloud bending over him, as yellow as a lemon, for she had jumped up out of bed when she heard him cry out in his sleep, and there hadn’t been time to put on the honey and the powder, to paint on the surprised black eyebrows or the round red mouth. “Wake up, wake up, Little Old Ancestor!” she was crying as she shook him. “You’re having a bad dream!” “Aren’t you the cat?” asked the Little Emperor, who wasn’t really awake yet. “Certainly _not_, Little Old Ancestor!” replied his aunt, rather offended.