turn presented the Rat with a morsel of dough, as a reward for his
kindness and generosity.

'What a remarkably lucky fellow I am!' thought the Rat, as he trotted
off gaily with his prize, 'and clever too! Fancy making a bargain
like that--food enough to last me five days in return for a rotten
old stick! _Wah! wah! wah!_ what it is to have brains!'

Going along, hugging his good fortune in this way, he came presently
to a potter's yard, where the potter, leaving his wheel to spin round
by itself, was trying to pacify his three little children, who were
screaming and crying as if they would burst.

'My gracious!' cried the Rat, stopping his ears, 'what a noise!--do
tell me what it is all about.'

'I suppose they are hungry,' replied the potter ruefully; 'their
mother has gone to get flour in the bazaar, for there is none in the
house. In the meantime I can neither work nor rest because of them.'

'Is that all!' answered the officious Rat; 'then I can help you. Take
this dough, cook it quickly, and stop their mouths with food.'

The potter overwhelmed the Rat with thanks for his obliging kindness,
and choosing out a nice well-burnt pipkin, insisted on his accepting
it as a remembrance.

The Rat was delighted at the exchange, and though the pipkin was just
a trifle awkward for him to manage, he succeeded after infinite
trouble in balancing it on his head, and went away gingerly,