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I must say, however, that you have a very odd way of walking." By this time Master Meadow Mouse had recovered from his surprise and wasn't afraid in the least. Now he laughed heartily. "I was walking the way you walk," he cried. "Oh, no!" Turkey Proudfoot exclaimed. "No, indeed! You certainly weren't." He didn't ask Master Meadow Mouse's pardon for contradicting.
With hair and whiskers deficient in colour at all times, but feebler than common in the rich sunshine, and more like the coat of a sandy tortoise-shell cat; with long nails, nicely pared and sharpened; with a natural antipathy to any speck of dirt, which made him pause sometimes and watch the falling motes of dust, and rub them off his smooth white hand or glossy linen: Mr Carker the Manager, sly of manner, sharp of tooth, soft of foot, watchful of eye, oily of tongue, cruel of heart, nice of habit, sat with a dainty steadfastness and patience at his work, as if he were waiting at a mouse's hole.
In a moment he was at the side door, listening for any sound from within none had ever seen or met the lodger or the first floor either ascending or descending, except in the familiar character of Larry the Bat. He opened the door, closed it behind him, and in the utter blackness went noiselessly up the stairs stairs so rickety that it seemed a mouse's tread alone would have set them creaking.
The house-mouse then visited the rat in her new home, which she thought ever so nice, though a little too large from a mouse's point of view. After that, she said good-bye and went back to her own place. But, during the next few days, she came across to the barn every night and had her share of the good things in the packing-case.
Crow flying from the woods to the cornfield. Once in a while Mr. Crow dropped down into the meadow on some business or other. But Master Meadow Mouse did not fear him. The grass was high in the meadow, screening the goings and comings of Master Meadow Mouse from prying eyes. But after haying time the meadow was a different place. There was no cover over Master Meadow Mouse's paths.
It's her spirit, of course!" "Then the mouse's spirit can very well be up there too." "No, it can't, for mice haven't got any spirit." "Haven't they? That was one for Rud! And the tiresome part of it was that he attended Sunday-school. His fists would have come in handy again now, but his instinct told him that sooner or later Pelle would get the better of him in fighting.
It is well known that the Queen Humble bee winters under the moss, or in her old nest. During the present month her rovings seem to have a more definite object, and she seeks some deserted mouse's nest, or hollow in a tree or stump, and there stows away her pellets of pollen, containing two or three eggs apiece, which, late in the summer, are to form the nucleus of a well-appointed colony.
Clarence, whom I will not describe, as he will, I trust, show himself more effectually by his actions, was like his mother in disposition, or so, at least, she made herself happy by thinking; but by some freak of nature he was like his father in person, and carried his mouse's heart in a huge frame, somewhat hulking and heavy-shouldered, with the same roll which distinguished Mr.
The Jew was at his door. "Well, I see you have sold my picture." "No, here it is," said Magus; "I've framed it, to show it to some one who fancies he knows about painting." Fougeres had not the heart to return to the boulevard. He set about another picture, and spent two months upon it, eating mouse's meals and working like a galley-slave.
So they hastened to him and, tucking up their sleeves, fell to searching for the flea; but as soon as the bloodsucker was aware of the search, he turned to flee and coming on the mouse's home, entered it.
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