The dinner was of eight courses; not much of anything, but truly
elegant. All the dishes were unknown to Timmy Willie, who would have
been a little afraid of tasting them; only he was very hungry, and very
anxious to behave with company manners. The continual noise upstairs
made him so nervous, that he dropped a plate. "Never mind, they don't
belong to us," said Johnny.

"Why don't those youngsters come back with the dessert?" It should be
explained that two young mice, who were waiting on the others, went
skirmishing upstairs to the kitchen between courses. Several times they
had come tumbling in, squeaking and laughing; Timmy Willie learnt with
horror that they were being chased by the cat. His appetite failed, he
felt faint. "Try some jelly?" said Johnny Town-mouse.

"No? Would you rather go to bed? I will show you a most comfortable
sofa pillow."

The sofa pillow had a hole in it. Johnny Town-mouse quite honestly
recommended it as the best bed, kept exclusively for visitors. But the
sofa smelt of cat. Timmy Willie preferred to spend a miserable night
under the fender.

It was just the same next day. An excellent breakfast was provided--for
mice accustomed to eat bacon; but Timmy Willie had been reared on roots
and salad. Johnny Town-mouse and his friends racketted about under the
floors, and came boldly out all over the house in the evening. One
particularly loud crash had been caused by Sarah tumbling downstairs
with the tea-tray; there were crumbs and sugar and smears of jam to be
collected, in spite of the cat.