"You don't seem to care whether Mrs. Man makes the pickles properly, or
not," a voice from the doorway said, and, looking around in surprise,
your Aunt Amy saw Mrs. Mouser Cat, an animal with whom she was very well
acquainted, but who had never before ventured to speak with her.

Considerably astonished, because it had not come into her mind that Mrs.
Mouser might prove to be as entertaining as any of the other animals she
had talked with, your Aunt Amy asked:

"What about the pickles, Mrs. Mouser?"

"Why, Mrs. Man is putting them up; didn't you know it?" the cat replied,
and your Aunt Amy said with a sigh:

"Oh, yes indeed, Mrs. Mouser, I know that, and you also know it is not
possible for me to do any work around the house, owing to my illness.
That is why I am idle on this day when the storm makes it seem very,
very lonely.

"You can sit out of doors all the afternoon with a foolish old duck, or
talk by the hour with Mr. Turtle, who hasn't got sense enough to go in
when it rains, and yet you never invited me for an afternoon's
story-telling," and Mrs. Mouser arched her back as if she was angry.

"Do you know any stories?" your Aunt Amy asked, surprised again, and
Mrs. Mouser replied quickly:

"It would be funny if I didn't. I've lived on this farm more than six
years, and have known pretty much all that has happened around here in
that time."