"Yes, and the greyhound," said he eagerly. "He belongs to me. Come, a glass case is nothing to it. We could roam; oh, we could roam!" "I don't like roaming." "Then we could stay at home, and lean against the greyhound." "No," said the Parian girl, "I don't like that." "Why?" "I have private reasons." "What?" "No matter." "I know," said the Cat-made-of-worsted. "I saw her behind. She's hollow. She's stuffed with lamp-lighters. He! he!" and the Cat-made-of-worsted grinned again. "I love you just as much," said the steadfast Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound, "and I don't believe the Cat." "Go away," said the Parian girl, angrily. "You're all hateful. I won't have you." "Ah!" sighed the Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound. "Ah!" came another sigh--it was from the China-girl-rising-out-of-a-pen-wiper--"how I pity you!" "Do you?" said he eagerly. "Do you? Then I love you. Will you marry me?" "Ah!" said she; "but--" "She can't!" said the Cat-made-of-worsted. "She can't come to you. She hasn't got any legs. I know it. I'm fifty years old. I never saw them." "Never mind the Cat," said the Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound. "But I do mind the Cat," said she, weeping. "I haven't. It's all pen-wiper." "Do I care?" said he. "She has thoughts," said the bronze Monk-reading-a-book. "That lasts longer than beauty. And she is solid behind." "And she has no hinge in her back," grinned the Cat-made-of-worsted. "Come, neighbors, let us congratulate them. You begin." "Keep out of disagreeable company," said the bronze Monk-reading-a-book. "That is not congratulation; that is advice," said the Cat-made-of-worsted. "Never mind, go on, my dear,"--to the Parian girl. "What! nothing to say? Then I'll say it for you. 'Friends, may your love last as long as your courtship.' Now I'll congratulate you." But before he could speak, the Audience got up. "You shall not say a word. It must end happily." He went to the mantel-piece and took up the China-girl-rising-out-of-a-pen-wiper. "Why, she has legs after all," said he. "They're false," said the Cat-made-of-worsted. "They're false. I know it. I'm fifty years old. I never saw true ones on her." The Audience paid no attention, but took up the Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound. "Ha!" said the Cat-made-of-worsted. "Come. I like this. He's hollow. They're all hollow. He! he! Neighbor Monk, you're hollow. He! he!" and the Cat-made-of-worsted never stopped grinning. The Audience lifted the glass case from him and set it over the Boy-leaning-against-a-greyhound and the China-girl-rising-out-of-a-pen-wiper. "Be happy!" said he. "Happy!" said the Cat-made-of-worsted. "Happy!" Still they were happy. THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES It is not easy, at the best, for two persons talking together to make the most of each other's thoughts, there are so many of them. [The company looked as if they wanted an explanation.]