Right through the startled geese she went, and the old woman and the cat followed after; but, fast as she went, they gained upon her, and at last the cat was almost upon her. In despair, she doubled back and almost ran into the old woman, who aimed a furious blow at her with her broom; but the Queen just dodged it, and it lighted full in the face of the cat, and, locked fast together, the cat and the old woman whirled to the ground. They were both of them too enraged to inquire who was who, and such a furious battle raged that the sand they threw up completely hid the earth from view for miles around. The Queen, however, after she had recovered her breath, hovered over the spot to see what would happen. All of a sudden there was a loud explosion, and a column of blue flame shot up. "Now what has happened?" the Queen thought to herself, and prepared to fly off at full speed. But the cloud of sand sailed quietly off down the wind, and, save for a deep hole, there remained no trace of the old woman and her cat. Just at that moment the Queen heard a mighty rustling of wings, and, looking up, saw the great herd of wild geese swirling round and round her head. "Dear me!" the Queen said to herself, "I wonder if I could talk to them. Perhaps they will understand bat’s language." Now, it is a rather difficult thing to give you a good idea of what the bat’s language is like, because, although one may produce a fairly good imitation by rubbing two corks together, or by blowing through a double button, it doesn’t mean any more in bat’s language than "Huckery hickyhoo" would in ours, if any one were foolish enough to produce such sounds. Suffice it, then, to say that the Queen said in the bat’s language, "Oh, come, that’s a good thing!" And the geese answered, "Yes, isn’t it scrumptious?" You see, geese are rather vulgar kinds of fowls, and so they speak a vulgar language—about as different from the aristocratic bat’s as a London costermonger’s is from that of a well-brought-up young person. So that, if you can imagine a gander and a bat proposing each to the lady of his choice, the goose would say, "’Lizer, be my disy;" whereas the bat would lay one claw upon its velvet coat over its heart and begin, "Miss Elizabeth," or "Miss Vespertilio,"—for that is the bat’s surname—"if the devotion of a lifetime can atone for——" and so on, in the most elegant of phrases. At any rate, the geese understood the Queen, and the Queen understood the geese, which is the main thing. "Now what shall I do?" the Queen said And the geese consulted among themselves. Then an elderly gander spoke up for the rest. "Ma’am," he said, or rather hissed, "you have saved our lives." The Queen said, "I’m sure I’m very glad." The poor gander blushed, not being used to speaking in public; but he began again bravely. "Ma’am, seeing as how you’re saved our lives, we’ve made up our minds to be your faithful servants, and to go where you go, and do what you do."