Presently the Parsee came by and found the skin, and he smiled
one smile that ran all round his face two times. Then he danced
three times round the skin and rubbed his hands. Then he went
to his camp and filled his hat with cake-crumbs, for the Parsee
never ate anything but cake, and never swept out his camp. He
took that skin, and he shook that skin, and he scrubbed that
skin, and he rubbed that skin just as full of old, dry, stale,
tickly cake-crumbs and some burned currants as ever it could
possibly hold. Then he climbed to the top of his palm-tree and
waited for the Rhinoceros to come out of the water and put it on.

And the Rhinoceros did. He buttoned it up with the three buttons,
and it tickled like cake crumbs in bed. Then he wanted to
scratch, but that made it worse; and then he lay down on the
sands and rolled and rolled and rolled, and every time he rolled
the cake crumbs tickled him worse and worse and worse. Then he
ran to the palm-tree and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed himself
against it. He rubbed so much and so hard that he rubbed his
skin into a great fold over his shoulders, and another fold
underneath, where the buttons used to be (but he rubbed the
buttons off), and he rubbed some more folds over his legs. And
it spoiled his temper, but it didn't make the least difference to
the cake-crumbs. They were inside his skin and they tickled. So
he went home, very angry indeed and horribly scratchy; and from
that day to this every rhinoceros has great folds in his skin and
a very bad temper, all on account of the cake-crumbs inside.

But the Parsee came down from his palm-tree, wearing his hat,
from which the rays of the sun were reflected in