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Updated: June 21, 2025
Mother Graymouse sat in her rocking-chair singing to little Squealer. Tiny, Teenty and Buster Graymouse were playing upon the floor near by with their cousins, Wink and Wiggle Squeaky. Aunt Squeaky and Uncle Hezekiah were busy around the stove. Grand-daddy and Granny Whiskers sat in the chimney corner waiting patiently for their supper.
Seaton stared blankly at the back of Nucky's head. His experiment was not turning out at all as he had planned. Jack often had puzzled him but there had always been something to grasp with Jack. His own boy had been such a good sport! A good sport! Suddenly Seaton cleared his throat. "Enoch, among the men you know, what is the opinion of a squealer?" "We hate him," replied the boy, shortly.
Then Mother Graymouse drew up the five little red-painted stools in a row. She sat down before them in her rocking chair with little squirming Squealer upon her knees. She gave him a stick of pink candy to suck, so he would stop squealing while she talked. "It is very painful," she began slowly, "but I see that I must teach you some lessons this morning.
Next morning when all the little Graymouses were eating their breakfast food, Mother Graymouse announced soberly, "My dears, we are going to move." "Out into the country?" cried Silver Ears and Buster at once. "Out into the barn." "Oh, dear!" wailed five little mice. "Boo-hoo!" cried Baby Squealer. "Listen, dearies," argued Mammy patiently. "Our lives are no longer safe in this attic.
"Very well, sir, thank you," replied the pig boy politely, and he looked around to see if the curly kink had come out of his tail where the bear had tied him to the round fence rail, but the curl was still there. "And how is this other little chap?" went on Grandpa Squealer, as he took a pinch of snuff, and then looked in his vest pocket to see if he had any spare pennies.
He asked if I had any more like it, but assured me that he was no squealer, and would never "kick" if I had traded him brass jewelry for his farm, only he simply wanted to know how badly he had been "done up." I showed him what I had, and gave them to him. He said he would take better care of that lot than he did the first, and would try and get even in some way.
"Then there was a small baby; he was rightly named Squealer," added Uncle Squeaky dryly. "Well, one stormy night when the snow was packed against the windows so you couldn't even peep out, their old uncle made them a visit. He reminded them that once again it was New Year's Eve." He paused solemnly. "And so we must make new resolutions," smiled Silver Ears. "Very good," agreed Uncle Squeaky.
But she didn't believe in me. She thought me a soft-head, a police stool, a squealer. Then I had to disappear; you know all about that. Not till I had been with you for several weeks did I learn that she was being used in a swindling scheme against Dick. "I did think of telling you or Dick.
"Merry Christmas!" grunted Grandpa Squealer, and Mr. and Mrs. Twistytail and the children. And from the outside the house all their animal friends shouted the happy words, and the horns blew, and the bells rang, and it was Christmas at last.
"Boo-hoo!" cried Baby Squealer as his mother dropped him in a wriggling heap among the cradle pillows and ran to hug Limpy-toes. "Tell us all about it?" they begged, as Limpy-toes drew up his little stool and asked for his bowl of oat-meal porridge. "I had quite an adventure," laughed Limpy-toes. "It wasn't so bad, only I knew Mammy would worry.
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