And Mir-row said just "_Fsssst-Mir-row!_" to show that she was cross.
Then I said, "Mir-row, you are a horrid nasty cat, and you don't deserve
that you should get off breaking that Delhi Vase. But I will take the
blame on myself--yes, I will--just to show you what it is to be noble.
_I_ will go up-stairs and 'fess.'"
So I said, "Get thee behind me, Mir-row!" as I ought to have done at
first. Because Mir-row had always been so naughty that she tempted me to
blame her for breaking it. If she had been a good cat, then such a thing
would never have entered my head. But her character was against her.
You see, I knew that I had only to say, "Mir-row did it," to get
believed. Because she was always doing wicked things like that.
Then I went up-stairs, running as hard as I could to get away from the
wicked Mir-row, who was tempting me to tell a story. I ran to find
Somebody to 'fess' to. And I found Somebody. And Somebody listened, and
then rose up looking quite grave, but very kind. Oh, I was shaking ever
so, till Somebody took me in such nice strong arms, and said that as I
had come at once, and had not even thought of trying to escape the blame
or to put it on anybody else, I should not be punished--though it
certainly _was_ a great, great pity.
But I never told about Mir-row, or how nearly it had happened otherwise.
And as for Mir-row, she said nothing either. She just curled herself up
on the carpet among the broken pieces of the vase, and when we went down
was peacefully dreaming of catching mice. I knew she was by the way she
had of thrusting out her claws and pulling them in again.
No, Mir-row did not deserve all that I had done for her.
But, after all, honesty is a better policy than blaming things on
Mir-row.
This is the story of my first temptation, and how I was saved from the
wickedness of Mir-row.