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Nimble-toes sat beside Grand-daddy, so he could talk with him easily, for Grand-daddy's left ear had been torn in a trap and he was somewhat deaf. "Now we are as still as mice," chuckled Grand-daddy. "Speak out, Nimble-toes." "I have a message from our woodfolk, Grand-daddy," began Nimble-toes. "No one could write a letter, so they told me what to say.
"And now," continued Uncle Squeaky in a disgusted tone, "the whole cellar is full of traps." They held a serious counsel, Grand-daddy and Granny Whiskers, Uncle and Aunt Squeaky, and Mother Graymouse. They talked until midnight. When the clock struck twelve, Grand-daddy summed it all up. "This has been going on for some time. War is now declared.
It isn't summer any more; it is frost-time. Everything seems topsy-turvy!" "Mercy on us!" cried Aunt Squeaky. "Ripe strawberries when it is 'most snow-time!" "The Giants are a wise folk," explained Grand-daddy. "They grow plants nowadays that bear fruit most of the time. Prob'ly you could find berries on those vines when they are buried under the snow."
Why, he was even pushing a sled under the tree! "That is queer," thought Buster drowsily. Bright and early next morning, ten little mice were dancing about their tree. Sure enough, Buster found it loaded with the very presents he expected. "Grand-daddy, did you trim our tree, or did Santa?" he demanded. "Why do you ask such funny questions, Buster Boy?" laughed Grand-daddy.
It seemed a long time to the four little fellows under the automobile, but it was really surprising how soon Jack Rabbit returned with help. Limpy-toes and Grand-daddy had medicines and bandages. Scamper and Uncle Squeaky hauled the cart with its four stout spool wheels. "Bless my stars!" cried Uncle Squeaky, when he had pulled poor battered Wiggle out from under.
After supper the little mice had to show Nimble-toes all the wonderful toys that Uncle and Grand-daddy had brought from the city. Uncle Squeaky began to pull out boxes and bags in which to pack his shirts and neckties. "Hurrah, Grand-daddy!" he cried. "I'm as excited as the kiddies. Bless my stars, but they are giving Nimble-toes a jolly good time!
And she nestled up to his side. "Eh? Oh, Phronsie, child." Old Mr. King put his arm around her, and drew her closely to him. "So you came after your old Grand-daddy, did you?" "Yes, I did," said Phronsie, with a glad little cry, snuggling up tighter to him, while the tears trailed off down his waistcoat, but not before he had seen them.
Then bidding Silver Ears rock Squealer to sleep, she hastened down to tell Grand-daddy Whiskers her trouble. "I fear that some dreadful accident has befallen my poor, dear Limpy-toes," she sobbed. "Now, Daughter Betsey, don't you worry," was Grand-daddy's cheerful reply. "Limpy-toes is a wise lad and knows well how to look out for himself. I will light my lantern, however, and go out.
The others went homeward, also, for it was getting late. "A little music is like medicine to a sad mouse," said Uncle Squeaky after supper. "Pa Field-Mouse seems down-hearted tonight. Trot along, laddies, and put on your band uniforms that Ma Graymouse made last summer. We will give Pa Field-Mouse a band concert." Grand-daddy nodded his head. "A grand idea, Hezekiah.
"Limpy-toes used cold water," said Aunt Squeaky. "No, it was hot water, Ma," contradicted Dot. "First he freezed me with cold water; then he boiled me in hot water," said Tiny. "I guess I can remember. Mammy put on cobwebs, Wink gave me some candy, and then I got better." "Fetch that creoline bottle, Silvy," repeated Grand-daddy sternly. "Land o' pity, who is the doctor, anyway?
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