'It won't please you any better,' said the Cat, 'he was called
Clean Gone.'

'Cleangone!' repeated the Mouse. 'I do not believe that name has
been printed any more than the others. Cleangone! What can it
mean?' She shook her head, curled herself up, and went to sleep.

From this time on no one asked the Cat to stand godmother; but
when the winter came and there was nothing to be got outside, the
Mouse remembered their provision and said, 'Come, Cat, we will go
to our pot of fat which we have stored away; it will taste very
good.'

'Yes, indeed,' answered the Cat; ' it will taste as good to you
as if you stretched your thin tongue out of the window.'

They started off, and when they reached it they found the pot in
its place, but quite empty!

'Ah,' said the Mouse,' 'now I know what has happened! It has all
come out! You are a true friend to me! You have eaten it all
when you stood godmother; first the top off, then half of it
gone, then----'

'Will you be quiet!' screamed the Cat. 'Another word and I will
eat you up.'

'Cleangone' was already on the poor Mouse's tongue, and scarcely
was it out than the Cat made a spring at her, seized and