They thought of nothing except to sit and stare at some long, gray
lines, which came into sight here and there--on the winter-naked
meadows.
All the black rats were silent. One could see that they were in deep
despair, and probably knew that they could neither defend their own
lives nor the castle. The two owls sat and rolled their big eyes, and
twisted their great, encircling eyebrows, and talked in hollow,
ghost-like voices, about the awful cruelty of the gray rats, and that
they would have to move away from their nest, because they had heard it
said of them that they spared neither eggs nor baby birds. The old
gray-streaked cat was positive that the gray rats would bite him to
death, since they were coming into the castle in such great numbers, and
he scolded the black rats incessantly. "How could you be so idiotic as
to let your best fighters go away?" said he. "How could you trust the
gray rats? It is absolutely unpardonable!"
The twelve black rats did not say a word. But the stork, despite his
misery, could not refrain from teasing the cat. "Don't worry so, Monsie
house-cat!" said he. "Can't you see that mother Akka and Thumbietot have
come to save the castle? You can be certain that they'll succeed. Now I
must stand up to sleep--and I do so with the utmost calm. To-morrow,
when I awaken, there won't be a single gray rat in Glimminge castle.
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