,' said the Cat.

'May I touch you?' Tavy asked timidly.

'Of course! I belong to you. Look out!' The China Cat gathered herself
together and jumped. Tavy caught her.

It was quite a shock to find when one stroked her that the China Cat,
though alive, was still china, hard, cold, and smooth to the touch, and
yet perfectly brisk and absolutely bendable as any flesh and blood cat.

'Dear, dear white pussy,' said Tavy, 'I do love you.'

'And I love you,' purred the Cat, 'otherwise I should never have lowered
myself to begin a conversation.'

'I wish you were a real cat,' said Tavy.

'I am,' said the Cat. 'Now how shall we amuse ourselves? I suppose you
don't care for sport--mousing, I mean?'

'I never tried,' said Tavy, 'and I think I rather wouldn't.'

'Very well then, Octavius,' said the Cat. 'I'll take you to the White
Cat's Castle. Get into bed. Bed makes a good travelling carriage,
especially when you haven't any other. Shut your eyes.'

Tavy did as he was told. Shut his eyes, but could not keep them shut. He
opened them a tiny, tiny chink, and sprang up. He was not in bed. He was
on a couch of soft beast-skin, and the couch stood in a splendid hall,
whose walls were of gold and ivory. By him stood the White Cat, no
longer china, but real live cat--and fur--as cats should be.

'Here we are,' she said. 'The journey didn't take long, did it? Now
we'll have that splendid supper, out of the fairy tale, with the
invisible hands waiting on us.'

She clapped her paws--paws now as soft as white velvet--and a
table-cloth floated into the room; then knives and forks and spoons and
glasses, the table was laid, the dishes drifted in, and they began to
eat. There happened to be every single thing Tavy liked best to eat.
After supper there was music and singing, and Tavy, having kissed a
white, soft, furry forehead, went to bed in a gold four-poster with a
counterpane of butterflies' wings. He awoke at home. On the mantelpiece
sat the White Cat, looking as though butter would not melt in her mouth.
And all her furriness had gone with her voice. She was silent--and
china.

Tavy spoke to her. But she would not answer. Nor did she speak all day.
Only at night when he was getting into bed she suddenly mewed,
stretched, and said:

'Make haste, there's a play acted to-night at my castle.'

Tavy made haste, and was rewarded by another glorious evening in the
castle of the White Cat.

And so the weeks went on. Days full