"There's nothing like coming to the heart of
things for information"; and they returned to the song that all English
water-mills have sung from time beyond telling:
There was a jovial miller once
Lived on the River Dee,
And this the burden of his song
For ever used to be.
Then, as fresh grist poured in and dulled the note:
I care for nobody--no not I,
And nobody cares for me.
"Even these stones have absorbed something of our atmosphere," said the
Grey Cat. "Nine-tenths of the trouble in this world comes from lack of
detachment."
"One of your people died from forgetting that, didn't she?" said the Rat.
"One only. The example has sufficed us for generations."
"Ah! but what happened to Don't Care?" the Waters demanded.
"Brutal riding to death of the casual analogy is another mark of
provincialism!" The Grey Cat raised her tufted chin. "I am going to sleep.
With my social obligations I must snatch rest when I can; but, as our old
friend here says, _Noblesse oblige_.... Pity me! Three functions to-night
in the village, and a barn dance across the valley!"
"There's no chance, I suppose, of your looking in on the loft about two.
Some of our young people are going to amuse themselves with a new sacque-
dance--best white flour only," said the Black Rat.
"I believe I am officially supposed not to countenance that sort of thing,
but youth is youth.
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