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"This creoline is worth its weight in gold," went on Dr. Grand-daddy, as he soaked the poor stubby tail. "I got it from Mr. Giant's medicine closet. It takes all the soreness out." "Better leave a little soreness in, Grand-daddy," said Mother Graymouse. "I am ashamed of you, Teenty Graymouse. Your foolish pride has spoiled the nice party which your little neighbors were enjoying.
"It is after sun-up, Mammy!" he called. "You don't suppose we are snowed in?" Uncle Squeaky opened the door. In tumbled a mass of drifted snow. "Just so, Limpy-toes!" he exclaimed. "Clear up to our roof!" "We cannot haul our furniture today," said Grand-daddy. "Snowed in?" wailed Granny. "Ah, whatever will become of us?"
See the pretty hemlocks and sweet ferns, Limpy." "Wait until you see the fine house the neighbors have built for me!" exclaimed Grand-daddy. "They felt sure that I would come. Silvy would call it Wild Rose Cottage. It is a real bower of roses. Here come our folk, now. Wait and I'll tell you all about it."
While she was speaking, there came the far-off patter, patter, scratch, scratch, of somebody climbing up to the attic. "Grand-daddy Whiskers," guessed Mother Graymouse, "or it may be Uncle Squeaky bringing us bad news." And then, up through the hole in the attic floor, who should appear but Limpy-toes himself!
Grand-daddy ran to the water's edge. There sat Grandpa Bull Frog groaning miserably. "Hello! a fish hook!" exclaimed Dr. Whiskers. "Let's see if I can extract it." He took a sharp instrument from his bag. "I'll be as careful as possible, Grandpa Bull Frog, but it is bound to hurt you considerable," he explained. "Now open your mouth wide." Dr. Whiskers twisted and pulled upon the hook.
You have had a busy day and Dot wants Limpy-toes to build her school-room tomorrow. Good-night, folkses. Yes, Limpy-toes, I suppose I can ride in your automobile. But do be careful and not break your old Granny's neck. We must all help Grand-daddy to keep his promise to fetch us all safely to our dear attic home before snow flies."
"They say that Santa comes down from the North Pole on his sled drawn by swift reindeer and brings a great pack filled with presents for good little mice," said Grand-daddy. "But you must all go to bed early, for he would not want you peeping while he trimmed your tree," added Granny. It was not easy to go to sleep on Christmas Eve.
Grand-daddy soon returned with the oil bottle and in spite of Buster's kicks and squeals, he managed to pour a big dose down his throat. In a short time, Granny Whiskers came up to see her sick grandchild. "I fear that oil will not cure him," she said. "You see, he has been eating a good deal of sweet. What he needs is some sour medicine."
"No, Grand-daddy, but my little jacket is nearly bursting. Ah, that is too funny! Guess I shall laugh all night." "I fear you have outgrown your band suit, Buster," said Mother Graymouse. "I shall have to give you less to eat." "Ah no, Mammy!" cried Buster in alarm. "Please don't starve me. Oh! oh! What Robert Giant realty said was: "'Peter picked a pint of pickled pipers."
"Aunt Belindy and I are going down cellar to say good-by to Polly Scrabble and her babies." Next morning, while the Giant family were sound asleep, Grand-daddy, Limpy-toes and Buster tip-toed softly down to the entrance. "Do not make too much noise cranking your automobile, Limpy-toes," whispered Grand-daddy. "We do not wish to disturb Mr. Giant."
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