During the cat’s absence the mouse cleaned the house, and put it in order, but the greedy cat entirely emptied the pot of fat. “When everything is eaten up one has some peace,” said she to herself, and well filled and fat she did not return home till night. The mouse at once asked what name had been given to the third child. “It will not please you more than the others,” said the cat. “He is called All-gone.” “All-gone,” cried the mouse “that is the most suspicious name of all! I have never seen it in print. All-gone; what can that mean?” and she shook her head, curled herself up, and lay down to sleep.

From this time forth no one invited the cat to be godmother, but when the winter came and there was no longer anything to be found outside, the mouse thought of their provision, and said: “Come, cat, we will go to our pot of fat which we have stored up for ourselves. We’ll enjoy that.” “Yes,” answered the cat, “you will enjoy it as much as you would enjoy sticking that dainty tongue of yours out of the window.” They set out on their way, but when they arrived, the pot of fat certainly was still in its place, but it was empty. “Ah-ha!” said the mouse, “now I see what has happened, now it comes to light! A true friend! You have devoured all while standing godmother. First top off, then half-done, then All-g”—scarcely had she spoken before the cat sprang on her, seized her, and swallowed her down. Indeed, that is the way of the world.



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