-Where are you going?--Fine
day!--Squeak!" replied Mr. Rat, in a succession of short, shrill
sentences.

"I'm going," said Froggy, "to see the pretty little Widow Mousey, who
lives in that snug cottage yonder. Pray come with me, for I feel rather
bashful at going by myself."

"With all my heart," replied Mr. Rat; and off they went together.

They soon arrived at the cottage; and the Rat having given a loud knock,
while the Frog gave a loud "Croak," Mrs. Mousey put away her
spinning-wheel in a great hurry, and admitted her guests.

"Good morning, Mrs. Mouse," said the Frog; "we were out walking, and
thought we would give you a call."

"You are very kind, I am sure," replied Mrs. Mousey. "Pray sit down and
rest yourselves; I dare say you are tired."

"And here--I say--squeak!--Mrs. Mousey--some beer!--We're thirsty," said
Mr. Rat.

"Croak--let's enjoy ourselves while we can," observed the Frog.

"Certainly," said Mousey. "I'll draw you some of the last brew."

So Mousey drew some beer, and they sat down very cosily; and soon were
chatting so comfortably, that Master Froggy thought he should soon get
rid of his bashfulness, and then should be able to ask pretty Mrs.
Mousey to marry him. Presently their little hostess proposed a song, and
called upon Froggy to oblige; but, "Really," he replied, "I must be
excused, for the fog last night gave me such a cold that I'm as hoarse
as a hog." He didn't forget that he had been singing "Rowley, powley,"
as he came along, but he was afraid that his voice was not good enough
for his company.

"Well," said Mousey, laughing, "I am sorry for that; but if you won't
sing, I will."

So she sang a pretty little song she had just composed, and a very
charming ditty it was--rather shrill, perhaps, but very well sung
indeed. After this, I need hardly tell you that they enjoyed themselves
amazingly. Perhaps Mr. Rat drank rather too much beer; but altogether it
was a very pleasant little party, and Froggy had so far got over his
bashfulness as to squeeze Mrs. Mousey's paw once or twice rather
tenderly.

But while they were thus happily employed, a terrible old cat who lived
in the neighbourhood, and went by the name of "Browzer," was tying on
her shawl--calling to her kittens, and saying,

"Come, my children, it is a fine day--let us go for a walk. Make haste,
for something tells me we shall find some dinner on our way."

And sure enough they did; for after looking after little