his uncle's sad fate.

"Yes," she answered. "Your world pleases me, for
it's a queer world, and life in it is queerer
still. Here am I, made from an old bedquilt and
intended to be a slave to Margolotte, rendered
free as air by an accident that none of you could
foresee. I am enjoying life and seeing the world,
while the woman who made me is standing helpless
as a block of wood. If that isn't funny enough to
laugh at, I don't know what is."

"You're not seeing much of the world yet,
my poor, innocent Scraps," remarked the Cat.
"The world doesn't consist wholly of the trees
that are on all sides of us."

"But they're part of it; and aren't they pretty
trees?" returned Scraps, bobbing her head until
her brown yarn curls fluttered in the breeze.
"Growing between them I can see lovely ferns
and wild-flowers, and soft green mosses. If the
rest of your world is half as beautiful I shall be
glad I'm alive."

"I don't know what the rest of the world is
like, I'm sure," said the cat; "but I mean to
find out."

"I have never been out of the forest," Ojo