"You are no better than a tadpole!" said his mother, getting very angry at last; and no sooner were the words out of her lips, than up jumped Master Froggy in a passion, and taking his opera-hat under his arm, off he went at a rapid pace, singing at the top of his voice, so as to hide his rage,—

Froggy had not walked very far before he saw, jogging on before him, a brown little fellow in a long-tail coat and Blucher boots, who carried an old cotton umbrella. "Dear me," thought the Frog, "that looks like my friend Mr. Rat;" and sure enough so it was.

"How do you do?" asked Master Froggy, when he had overtaken him.

"Pretty well!—How's your self?—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 birds, and trying the windows of all the pantries they knew,—

"B-row!" said the Cat, snuffing the air; "do you know—I'm not quite certain—but—yes, really—I smell mouse."

"Mew!" said the kittens; "we're so glad."

"And I think, also, rat."

"Oh, come along!" said the kittens.

"Don't make a noise,"