But poor little Bow-Wow could not bear this.

"What!" he said, "you will go on as you do now when I am gone?

You will go on just the same, when you will never have me to look at—or to speak to—or to fight with?"

Bow-Wow's voice quite broke down. "Oh, Mew-Mew! you are not kind to me."

"Me not kind! If it comes to that, you are much more unkind than I am.

You do not care a bit for me; not a bit more than if I was a chick or a pig.

You would not sit up with me, as I am doing with you now—no, not if I had hurt ten legs," said Mew-Mew.

"Oh, Mew-Mew! how can you say such things?" cried Bow-Wow. "Oh, Mew-Mew! how can you, and with me dying!"

"You would not care if I were dying ten times over," said the cat. And she put her paw over her face, and began to cry.

"I—I—I should," said Bow-Wow; "I am sure I should care very much."

"Well, well," said Mew-Mew, "I do not wish to be cross with you, now that you are about to die."

"Let us be friends then," said Bow-Wow.

"We will," said Mew-Mew.

Then they were quite still for some time. They did not know what to make of being friends.

They did not speak, for they did not know what to say.