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 grinnin