“Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens,” he began; “the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed Ruler’s fat piglet⁠—or else first eating and then murdering it. In either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment.”

“Do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?” asked Dorothy.

“Don’t interrupt, little girl,” said the Woggle-Bug. “When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion.”

“If your thoughts were any good they wouldn’t become confused,” remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly. “My thoughts are always⁠—”

“Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?” demanded the Woggle-Bug.

“It’s a trial of one kitten,” replied the Scarecrow; “but your manner is a trial to us all.”