I stayed in the laundry nearly all day, for the sun went under a cloud
soon after breakfast, and a cold drizzling rain began to fall. It gave
me the rheumatism, and I was glad to curl up in a big market-basket on
the shelf behind the stove, and enjoy the heat of the roaring fire.
Nora was ironing, and singing as she worked. Not since I left the warm
California garden had I been as peaceful and as comfortable. The heat
made me so drowsy that not even the thump, bump of Nora's iron on the
ironing-board, or the sound of her shrill singing could keep me awake.
I dreamed and dozed, and dozed and dreamed all day, in a blissful
state of contentment.

It was nearly dark when I roused up enough to stretch myself and step
out of the basket. Nora had gone up-stairs and was setting the
supper-table. I could hear the cook beating eggs in the pantry. There
would be muffins for supper. The sound made me so hungry that I
slipped into the dining-room, and hid under the sideboard until Nora
had finished her work and gone back to the kitchen. The cook was still
mixing muffin batter in the pantry. I could hear her spoon click
against the crock as she stirred it, so that I knew she would not be
in to disturb me for some time.

I never saw a table more inviting. After I had leaped up on it, I sat
and looked all around a moment, trying to decide what to take first.
Everything was so good. There wasn't much room to walk about, and when
I stepped over the jelly to reach the cheese, which seemed to tempt my
appetite more than anything, my long tail switched the roses out of
the bowl in the middle of the table. That confused me slightly, and in
trying not to upset anything else I stepped flat into the butter, and
dragged my little plaid flannel skirt through the applesauce. Why they
persist in dressing me in this ridiculous fashion is more than I can