And then she thought that did not look quite polite; so she
scratched out "isn't mouse" and changed it to "I hope it will be fine,"
and she gave her letter to the postman.
But she thought a great deal about Ribby's pie, and she read Ribby's letter over and over again.
"I am dreadfully afraid it will be mouse!" said Duchess to herself—"I
really couldn't, couldn't eat mouse pie. And I shall have to eat it,
because it is a party. And my pie was going to be veal and ham. A
pink and white pie-dish! and so is mine; just like Ribby's dishes;
they were both bought at Tabitha Twitchit's."
Duchess went into her larder and took the pie off a shelf and looked
"It is all ready to put into the oven. Such lovely pie-crust; and I put
in a little tin patty-pan to hold up the crust; and I made a hole in
the middle with a fork to let out the steam—Oh I do wish I could eat
my own pie, instead of a pie made of mouse!"
Duchess considered and considered and read Ribby's letter again—
"A pink and white pie-dish—and you shall eat it all. 'You' means
me—then Ribby is not going to even taste the pie herself? A pink
and white pie-dish! Ribby is sure to go out to buy the muffins.... Oh
what a good idea! Why shouldn't I rush along and put my pie into
Ribby's oven when Ribby isn't there?"