welcome us and give us a night's lodging." But
however far they walked the light seemed to get no nearer, so by and by
the cat stopped short, saying:

"I think the light is traveling, too, and we shall never be able to
catch up with it. But here is a house by the roadside, so why go
farther?"

"Where is the house, Bungle?"

"Just here beside us, Scraps."

Ojo was now able to see a small house near the pathway. It was dark and
silent, but the boy was tired and wanted to rest, so he went up to the
door and knocked.

"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.

"I am Ojo the Unlucky, and with me are Miss Scraps Patchwork and the
Glass Cat," he replied.

"What do you want?" asked the Voice.

"A place to sleep," said Ojo.

"Come in, then; but don't make any noise, and you must go directly to
bed," returned the Voice.

Ojo unlatched the door and entered. It was very dark inside and he could
see nothing at all. But the cat exclaimed: "Why, there's no one here!"

"There must be," said the boy. "Some one spoke to me."

"I can see everything in the room," replied the cat, "and no one is
present but ourselves. But here are three beds, all made up, so we may
as well go to sleep."

"What is sleep?" inquired the Patchwork Girl.

"It's what you do when you go to bed," said Ojo.

"But why do you go to bed?" persisted the Patchwork Girl.

"Here, here! You are making altogether too much noise," cried the Voice
they had heard before. "Keep quiet, strangers, and go to bed."

The cat, which could see in the dark, looked sharply around for the
owner of the Voice, but could discover no one, although the Voice had
seemed close beside them. She arched her back a little and seemed
afraid. Then she whispered to Ojo: "Come!" and led him to a bed.

With his hands the boy felt of the bed and found it was big and soft,
with feather pillows and plenty of blankets. So he took off his shoes
and hat and crept into the bed. Then the cat led Scraps to another bed
and the Patchwork Girl was puzzled to know what to do with it.

"Lie down and keep quiet," whispered the cat, warningly.

"Can't I sing?" asked Scraps.

"No."

"Can't I whistle?" asked Scraps.

"No."

"Can't I dance till morning, if I want to?" asked Scraps.

"You must keep quiet," said the cat, in a soft voice.

"I don't want to," replied the Patchwork Girl, speaking as loudly as
usual. "What right have you to order me around? If I want to talk, or
yell, or whis