Today is Sunday.
The servants who had been asked to send food to the dungeon were all frightened to be brave enough to go again. Sometimes the Uncle missed his clouts to Mig's ear and gave them to Mig's nose, which happened often enough to interrupt the proper workings of Mig's olfactory senses. And so it was that the overwhelming stench of despair and hopelessness and evil was not at all discernable to her, and she went happily down the twisting and turning stairs. She held the food and started to sing a song. The rat heard the song and fell in step beside Mig. Mig shouted to the jailer but there was no response. It was quiet but it was not that quiet, because there was some sounds of clicking, scratching, moaning and water-dropping. Anyone could hear those sounds and be frightened by them, except Mig. She just held the tray and the candle higher, that made her see the pile of spoons, bowls and kettles. She said to herself,"I ain't never imagined there could be so many spoons in the whole world."
