A miller left for all good to three children he had, only his mill, his donkey, and his cat. The shares were soon made, neither the Notary nor the Procurator were called. They would soon have eaten all the poor patrimony. The eldest had the Mill, the second had the donkey, and the youngest had only the Cat. He could not take comfort in having such a poor lot: My brothers, he said, will be able to earn an honest living by getting together; for me, when I have eaten my cat, and I have made a sleeve of its skin, I will have to die of hunger. The Cat who heard this speech, but did not pretend it, said to him with a serious and serious air: Do not grieve, my master, you only have to give me a Bag, and make me a pair of Boots to go into the brush, and you will see that you are not so badly divided as you think.