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'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 had come 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 shall 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. 'Alas!' said the mouse, 'now I see

what has happened, now it comes to light! You are a true friend!

You have devoured all when you were standing godmother. First top

off, then half-done, then--' 'Will you hold your tongue,' cried

the cat, 'one word more, and I will eat you too.' 'All-gone' was

already on the poor mouse's lips; scarcely had she spoken it

before the cat sprang on her, seized her, and swallowed her down.

Verily, that is the way of the world.