Bae's social circle grows. Eventually every child between four and ten comes to inspect, even pet, the cat. Most of them lose interest in one visit, but some of them come back for the treats Rumple serves as well as the entertainment Midnight provides. A few start coming back to play with Bae. Most parents, too busy earning a living to notice who their kids play with, don't forbid it. Only a few stick to their principles and jerk their kids' arms as they march them back home.

Rumple inspects his food supply. He does this once a week to throw away the spoiled or rodent-eaten goods. Now he also has to see how much damage he's done by giving out treats. Not that he'd stop: Bae's need for friends matters just as much as their mutual need for meals. Surprisingly, the losses balance out with the gain; he doesn't need to throw anything away.

At the unfamiliar rap on his door—Gretchen and Lucas never knock, just call out a greeting and enter—Rumple looks up from his spinning and invites his caller to enter. He recognizes her from the market—she sells cheese—but he doesn't know her name, and as with most of the women in this village, he can guess her age only by the number of children she's borne. Life here seems to take so much more out of the women than the men.

"Hello? Rumplestiltskin?"

He seizes his walking stick and rises. "Yes. What can I do for you, Mistress. . . ?"

"Cedany. My husband is Barda. We have a house at the other end of the village. We keep goats."

"Yes, I remember seeing you in the marketplace. I've bought cheese from you when I could afford it. My son is very fond of it."

She reaches into a deep pouch slung over her shoulder. "I'm glad to know it. I was hoping, in fact. I thought we might. . . make an arrangement. You see, Gretchen tells me you have a cat, and as you can imagine, being cheese makers, we have a mouse problem. . . I thought, a wheel of cheese every week for a month, in exchange for use of the cat for the same month?"

Another woman comes to him, the very day that Cednay returns Midnight to her proper home. She carries a toddler on her hip and two older children trail along behind. She shows him her baby's hand and Rumple is confused until she uncurls the child's fist and he realizes one of the fingertips is missing. "Two weeks ago, in the late night, Leif woke us all, shrieking. We lit a candle and ran to him. His hand was covered with blood. My husband caught the rat that did it, and he killed it, but where there is one—"

"There are twenty more," Rumple finishes the old adage.

"Rumplestiltskin, you are a father. My baby—" she sits down heavily on the chair he provides, and as she cries, so does her baby, and the older children stare in fearful silence.

He makes honey-laced tea for the woman and her older children. "Mistress—"

"Angmar. My husband is Leofrik, the cartwright."

"Mistress Angmar, would you like to borrow a cat?"

"I hardly got a chance to welcome her home before Mistress Angmar took her," Bae grumbles as he sets the table for supper. Rumple notices, however, that from the corner of his eye, Bae is admiring the thick slices of bread from Gretchen and the thick slices of cheese from Cednay that await them, along with their usual nettle tea. The boy's tongue darts out to moisten his lips in anticipation, and Rumple smiles slyly.

"I would've enjoyed having her home too, but the safety of those children has to come before our own entertainment, yes?" Rumple hovers over the table with the plate of bread and cheese, subtly drawing Bae's attention to the treats their cat has earned for them.

"Yeah, I know: Midnight's destiny." Bae is trying to keep up his grumpiness but fails.

"Wash your hands for supper, son."

A black butterball of fur drops down from mid-air and lands squarely on the book that Morraine and Bae are studiously bent over. Bae raises an open hand, prepares to swat, but then he hastily glances at his father working diligently at the spinning wheel, and Bae knows that no matter how distracted his papa seems, he's never so distracted that he doesn't catch all of Bae's mischief. So Bae tightens his mouth and gently lifts the cat off the book and down to the floor. "Shoo, Midnight," Morraine urges. A slight relaxation of Rumple's shoulders informs Bae that Papa is pleased.

Only three people in the village know Rumple and Bae's secret: the three who live next door. Gretchen, Lucas and Morraine are in complete agreement that the secret must be kept, but Gretchen and Lucas don't agree whether their neighbors' ability to read is a good thing. Gretchen dreads what will happen when the secret is discovered—and in a village this size, it's bound to happen. Rumple is already a pariah, and there are few enough adults who will trade with him and few enough children who will play with Bae. She's seen the change that's come upon Bae since the introduction of the cat into the village has attracted Borin's and Isolde's attention, and she worries that the lonely child will lose the small patch of ground he's gained when word leaks out that, apparently, the coward and his brat think themselves better than everyone else. Nobody in this village reads, not even the richest of the farmers; only the duke's representative, who comes by once a month to hear citizens' requests and collect taxes (mostly the latter).

Gretchen also worries what will become of her daughter when the villagers learn that Bae has been teaching Morraine to read (such a quick learner, that girl; Gretchen is proud at the same time she dreads the outcome). She tried to put a stop to the teaching, but with Lucas on Morraine's side, she lost that battle before she even confronted it. Lucas has dreams—fantasies, really—for something better than this village for his bright, vivacious daughter. Perhaps a governess position, preferably in one of those riverside towns in the north, with some fine family who will teach her manners and introduce her to a merchant or a scholar.

Morraine has no such ambitions; she imagines coins jingling in her pockets as she walks past bakeries and dress shops, and she imagines stacks of those coins someday buying her passage to some of the exotic cities described in one of Bae's books (the one with the missing pages in the middle).

Still, Gretchen is grateful for the kindness Rumplestiltskin shows, as generous with Morraine as he is with his own child (and she's seen the emptiness of his larder, so she knows what it's cost him to feed a guest). And so she keeps the secret and she allows the reading lessons to continue and whenever she has a little extra flour she "accidentally" bakes too much.

Nearly a month has passed before Leofrik, on his way to market, drops in at the spinner's hovel to return the cat. He clears his throat as he raps on the door; he's a proud man and "thank you" is foreign to his tongue, and worse, he's nervous that one of his customers will see him standing in the coward's yard. So he makes his visit very brief, handing the cat to Rumple, then handing a basket to Bae that contains a hammer, some wooden pegs and a handsaw. Their condition is not new, but they have been well maintained, as one would expect from a man whose living depends upon his tools. Despite their age, Rumple can easily estimate their value: in the marketplace, he's bargained unsuccessfully to purchase the tools he would need for household repairs.

"A man always can use some tools, I figure," Leofrik says, then turns away before Rumple can thank him.

"Is that her?"

Rumple glances up, startled by unfamiliar voice and the large shadow falling across his doorstep. The figure shifts as Rumple stands to greet the stranger, and with a faint ray of sun now falling over the man's shoulder, Rumple can recognize the visitor; still, he doesn't know what the farmer is referring to. "Her?"

The farmer points at the cat. "I been hearin'—well, you know, we just harvested. We always lose a portion to the damn field mice, you know."

Rumple understands now. He bends to scoop up the cat.

"Well." The farmer seems annoyed, but Rumple understands it has as much to do with the necessity of asking for a favor as it does with the disgust of speaking to a war deserter. "It's hog butcherin' time. I could go high as half a smoked side for a month's use of the cat."

Rumple has no idea how much meat a "side" would consist of, but it sounds like a good deal. Midnight under his arm, Rumple takes down from his shelf a basket that Bae had woven and lined with the scraps from an outgrown tunic. Bae calls it "Midnight's traveling basket," as he felt she had a need for comfort in her many excursions throughout the village. He sets the cat into the basket and she seats herself primly in the middle, as if she understands it's time to go to work.

"Don't feed her any scraps." Rumple scratches her head and strokes her sleek back down to her tail. She likes to be petted that way; it's her due. A small lump forms in his throat as he surrenders the basket. He has no qualms—it's a very generous deal, and he knows the farmer appreciates the value of animals, even small ones. It's just that, with the nights growing long and Bae growing older and spending more time with his friends, Rumple has enjoyed having the cat to talk to. They'd come to an agreement that as long as she keeps her paws off his wheel, she's welcome to sleep at his feet or on his shoulder while he spins. It's an arrangement they find mutually beneficial.

The farmer looks at him strangely but nods before taking his leave.

Lucas returns from a profitable fishing trip, and in return for the assistance Bae gives Morraine in salting the fish for winter, he shares a little of his catch, just enough for one meal. He would share more, but Rumple refuses when he sees how crazy the odor of fish makes Midnight. "That's a fight we're bound to lose."

Lucas sits down at Rumple's table to warm up over a cup of tea and to watch the cat, who is dancing back and forth, first approaching Lucas to sniff at his clothes, then hopping back when Lucas shifts on the bench. Lucas and Bae laugh, then Lucas makes a suggestion. "Ought to think about breedin' her. She's old enough."

"Breeding?" Rumple studies the cat. He hasn't considered the notion before.

"One of these days not too far down the road, she's gonna be a terror to live with, yeowlin' and such."

Rumple considers it, comparing the cat's impending condition to what he remembers from his limited time living with a wife. Milah never yeowled, of course, but the "and such" certainly made Rumple want to hide in the woods some days. He doesn't want to put his hard-working little cat through such agony. "How often do they, ah—"

"Well, from what I've heard, too often."

When the first frost arrives, Rumple borrows a handcart from Leofrik. He and Bae load it with baskets of thread and yarn, and with the cat riding atop a basket, they set out for the castle at Avonlea. They will sell their goods (theirs, Bae can say with pride, because he's done some of the spinning himself) in the city, the rest at the castle, and as for the cat, Rumple has another plan. He estimates that she is a year old now, or a little more, and from the bouts of odd behavior she's exhibited in the past few months, "It's time," he announces to Bae, "for her to become a mother."

"Do you mean she's going to have kittens? When, Papa?" Bae bounces on his heels.

"No, not yet. She has to. . .ah. . .find a mate first."

"Oh." Bae falls silent, watching his cat sleep. He knows how these things work: Papa has explained it, and he's seen dogs and goats mating. In such a small village, innocence is hard to hang onto.

"There are a lot of cats at the castle. I'm going to ask if, well, if we can leave Midnight with them for a day or two while we rent a stall in the marketplace. We have a large supply of thread to sell, twice as much as usual, since there were two of us working."

"And we'll sell twice as much, because two of us will be selling." But still Bae watches his cat with a worried look. They walk on, and finally Rumple asks what's troubling him. He's heard the screams of women as they deliver their newborns; from afar he's watched funeral processions for women who have died in childbirth. He's even attended a child-organized funeral for a lamb born with its umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. He knows the risks, but even at his tender age, he knows everything that lives will die. Still, though the cat hasn't been with them long, he loves her (a truth he'd admit only to his papa). "What if she isn't strong enough to have kittens? She's still kind of a baby herself."

"In the lifespan of cats, she's full grown. It's part of their nature that they don't live as long as people do. You may have noticed that Lucas' dog has a gray muzzle and doesn't see so well any more. How old do you think she is?"

Bae shrugs. The dog has lived next door as long as he can remember. He compares the dog's condition to papa's and takes a guess based on that age. "Forty?"

Rumple shakes his head. "She's twelve. For a dog, that's old. Dogs usually live to be ten or fifteen years old. I suspect the same is true of cats. Or perhaps less, because they're smaller."

Bae persists, "If she has kittens, mightn't she die birthing them?"

"There's a possibility, but I think it will be safe for her. She's in good health, and we'll take care of her if she has trouble." Rumple doesn't specify how they'll take care of her. There's a man in the village who doctors sick sheep and goats and horses, but does he know anything about cats? Besides, his fee is more than Rumple makes in a year.

Rumple slides a comforting arm around Bae's shoulders. "She'll be all right, son."

"How did my mother die?"

Rumple stares silently into the horizon.

"How did she die, papa?"

"Pirates."

Of course Bae wants to know the full story, but the tone in his father's voice brings all further conversation about the subject to a halt. He reaches into the cart and scratches the cat's head.

As they approach the servants' entrance to the castle, they pause to wash at the well. Shaking the water from his hair, Rumple lets his gaze wander over the bustling castle; he wonders, as he always does, what it would be like to live in such a grand place and to have cooks and maids and governesses at his beck and call. A movement on one of the balconies draws his attention and he squints into the sun to see what's happening.

He thinks he's seeing an angel.

She wears a ball gown of gold. The sunlight makes her alabaster skin and luxurious auburn hair glow with an ethereal light. She leans on the rail, tilting her fine-boned face toward the sun and closing her eyes. She's still as a painting, and so is Rumple as he admires her, until someone from in the castle calls to her and with a scowl she lifts her heavy skirts and turns to go inside.

Bae tugs his father's coat. "Shouldn't we go in now?"

Rumple nods. He approaches the entrance with head raised, because the thread he has to sell is his best yet, and because he knows the weaver will welcome him. And so it is: as he and the weaver bargain, one of the cooks, charmed by Bae's bright smile and flawless manners, feeds the boy milk and pie. When Rumple presents his plan for Midnight, the weaver simply shrugs. "You can leave her in the barn as long as you like. She'll have her pick of males there."

Two days later, when they return for their cat, their cart is empty and Rumple's pouch is full. He's still underpaid, he realizes that; he knows the quality of his work and the prices that other spinners charge. But at least he and Bae will eat this winter. As for Midnight, she seems calmer as she rides in the cart in an empty basket.

"She has fleas."

"Prob'ly picked them up from those barn cats at the castle," Bae snorts.

"Get the lye soap, son. We're going to have to scrub her down, like Lucas does with his dog." Rumple drags the dish tub outside and begins to heat water for it. Lucas isn't so persnickety with his dog, but it seems cruel to wash the cat in cold water. While Rumple fills the tub with warm water, Bae sits on the ground nearby, the cat on his lap, explaining to her what's about to happen. She looks bored.

Rumple has never washed a dog before, but he's seen Lucas do it enough times, a firm hand latched to the dog's ruff while Morraine scrubs the animal vigorously with soap. So that's how he instructs Bae to proceed, and Bae brings the cat over to the tub as Rumple soaps up a scrub brush. But as soon as the cat's back feet touch the water, she shrieks and shoots out of Bae's arms, all four legs pumping, her claws scraping the air, water droplets flying. Her howls are equal parts terror for the drowning she seems to think imminent and angry insult that her owners see it necessary to humiliate her in this manner. One of her paws slaps Bae's nose; seeing him as her lifebuoy, she throws all four paws at him, claws out to cling to him, and he falls over backwards, twisting his head away from the tiny knives that seek purchase in his ears.

"Bae!" Rumple drops the brush into the tub and dives at her, but he stumbles over his own ankle and lands on his belly in the grass. Bae regains his feet before Rumple does and assists him to stand. The cat is long gone.

"Maybe we best leave it to her to take care of her own bathing," Rumple suggests.

This year, the winter bothers them less than last year. With a new roof and the cracks in the wattle filled, and the foodstuffs safe from mice, the Stiltskin family keep warm and dry. Even more to Bae's liking, Rumple has stopped loaning the cat out. In her condition, he feels, it's safer for her to stay at home, especially as her belly stretches and heavy snows drive starving wolves closer to the village.

Bae weaves a second, larger basket for the expected arrivals, and he sets it near the hearth. He is offended when Midnight hops out of the basket just as soon as he places her into it.

"Papa, why's she being so finicky? This is a perfectly good basket. Look, I lined it extra thick."

Rumple shrugged. "Who knows how expectant mothers think? Let her choose where she wants to sleep." As they enjoy their onion soup and fried pork, they avoid talking so they can spy on the cat. She sleeps at the foot of the spinning wheel, but as darkness falls, she begins rooting around in the cupboards. She inspects the food stores first, then, deeming them mice-free, she hops (not so gracefully now) into the cupboard where Bae keeps his clothes. Bae groans as he hears her pushing his tunics and trousers around; he groans even louder when she returns to her new basket and with teeth and claws tears apart the cushion he made for her. The cloth in her teeth, she walks backwards, dragging the ripped cushion into the clothes cupboard.

"Papa," Bae protests, but Rumple chuckles. "You made it for her to be comfortable. This is how she makes it more comfortable."

"Women!" Bae snorts in mock frustration, and they both laugh.

An abnormally sunny day has melted the snow, so Rumple takes advantage of the break to drag a tub into the back yard and wash clothes. Usually Bae helps by hanging the damp garments on a bit of rope stretched between two trees, but he's in a funny phase right now where he doesn't want to be caught doing women's work. Then when he sees Rumple dragging the tub into the yard, he reddens, remembering someone has to do the laundry. Still, he bends his head over a book (a new one that Rumple bought in Avonlea) and pretends to study so he doesn't have to cope with the embarrassment of his father doing women's work—and his shame in refusing to help.

The cat sleeps on his lap. She's sleeping a lot these days. But she suddenly raises her head, jumps awkwardly down, and trots into the clothes cupboard, and in a minute Bae knows why: there's a woman standing in the open doorway.

"Hello? Is this the home of the cat?" But the woman is staring at the book on the table. Hastily Bae closes it, but he's already caught.

"Uh, yeah, come in, ma'am. Can I get you some tea?" Bae doesn't wait for her answer; he rinses out Papa's cup.

"Welcome, mistress." Rumplestiltskin, having heard the voices, comes up behind her. "Good lad, Bae. Please, sit, and tell us how we can help you." He draws back his chair and motions for her to be seated.

She sits and accepts the tea, but her gaze passes between the book and the peasants, and from the crease forming between her eyes, she's clearly not pleased. She tries to hide her interest in the book, however, by pretending to look for the cat. "I'm Mistress Enndolyn. My husband is the baker Falk."

Rumple nods. "Aye. I know him."

"We've heard your cat can clean out a nest of mice in under a week. I came to offer an exchange, a basket of rolls, for use of your cat." She speaks as if it's a done deal. After all, these are peasants: to them, a soft roll is a delicacy.

Bae twitches, his imagination jumping already to visions of all the lovely sandwiches he could make with those rolls. He and Morraine had shared one once, a payment for an errand they'd run for Falk. The baker's skills are not overrated.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," Rumple is saying with true longing in his voice, "but I must decline. Our cat is, for the present time, indisposed."

The frown deepens. "Is she injured? Ill?"

"No, Mistress, she's, ah," Rumple searches for a term he can use without offending. "In the family way."

Enndolyn is not only not offended, she's inspired. The businesswoman in her smells a new deal. "I'll take one."

"Take—" Rumple echoes in confusion.

"A basket of rolls each week for. . . one month. For a kitten."

Rumple and Bae exchange worried glances. "Oh, I don't. . . ."

"Two months."

"Papa," Bae puts a little whine into his tone.

"Three months, assuming it's a strong, healthy animal. Female preferred. I hear they're better hunters."

Rumple nods and Bae groans. Pleased with the outcome of her visit, Enndolyn pushes her tea aside, rises, and pumps Rumple's hand, nearly crushing it in her grip. She seems to think that the firmer the handshake, the firmer the deal.

When she's gone, Bae huffs and turns his back on his father. "How could you do that? Sell off Midnight's baby when he isn't even born yet?"

"He—or she—will stay with her until she weans him. Then it will be time for him to go out into the world and start his own job." Rumple tries to make light of it, but Bae isn't budging. Rumple sighs and reclaims his seat. "Bae, pour me a cup of tea, will you, please? Then sit down. It's time we had a talk."

The mystery behind his words catches Bae's attention and he does as bid. He leans his elbows on the table and watches closely as a blush rises up Rumple's neck to his cheeks. "Ah, son, you've seen lambing."

Bae nods.

"Well, it's time you knew the whole story of how that happens. . . what happens before that happens. . .and why, ah, we can't keep the kittens once they're grown." Rumple cools his tea with a breath. "And, uh, after that, we'll talk about how that happens for men and women."

An hour later, Bae is staring at the cat, in a mixture of awe and horror. Then he stares at his father. "You. . .and Mama. . . "

The red in Rumple's cheeks hasn't faded. "It, uh, can be. . . very nice. When people love each other." Then he adds hastily, "And when they're old enough to start a family. And when they're married."

Rumple started selling thread and yarn, his own and his spinster guardians', when he was eight years old. All those years of selling have given him many a learning opportunity, and one of the observations he's made is that the harder something is to buy, the more determined people will feel to acquire it. If a seller can add to that rareness a product that is really fine, really worth seeking, his business will surpass all others'. Rumple has the talent and the patience to produce the finest thread in the kingdom, but he lacks the means to make his buyers strive for it. He and Bae need the money too badly for him to hold out for a higher price.

He's not so sure he'd get it, anyway.

But the cat, now that's another story.