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From the pantry came Silver Ears Graymouse and Dot Squeaky, bringing food to the table. "I hope Limpy-toes Graymouse and Scamper Squeaky have not gone away," thought Nimble-toes. Somebody stole softly up behind him; two paws blindfolded his eyes. "It is Limpy-toes," he guessed, trying to be brave in that dark, strange place. "Right you are, Nimble-toes," laughed Limpy-toes.
It was little wonder that nobody once thought of saying to Kyzie: "Well, Grandma Graymouse, you promised to tell us to-night how you like your school." The school was quite forgotten, and so was the injured kitten.
"C a t, cat," she continued firmly. "C a t, cat," shrilled all five. "P o i s o n, poison; that is the last word." "P o i s o n, poison," finished the tired little scholars with a sigh. "Very good," smiled Mother Graymouse. "Very good, indeed! School is dismissed. You may run out and play." Buster waved his paw high. "Please, Mammy, I've made a new song. May I sing it now?"
"It takes Mammy Graymouse to teach them their lessons. If they don't mind, just tell Mammy." School began upon a lovely summer morning. Dot found many pupils waiting upon the green moss seats. "What a splendid school! I am proud," she exclaimed as she tossed her pink sun hat upon her desk. "I shall soon teach you some pretty songs, but this morning Fidelia Cricket has promised to fiddle for us."
You are too fat to run fast. I nearly missed it. And anyway, you would have stuck in the middle of that teentiest hole and old Tom would have chewed your tail right off." "True, quite true," echoed Mother Graymouse, wagging her head solemnly. One fine morning in midsummer, Mother Graymouse and her family started upon their annual outing. Mrs.
Melodious music makes many melancholy mice merry. Ha! ha! That's nearly as good as the jingle Robert Giant used to sing about 'Picker Peter's peppered pickles." Buster Graymouse hopped up and down in delight. He laughed until the tears ran down his fat cheeks. "What's the trouble, Buster Boy?" asked Grand-daddy. "Did you eat too much supper?"
"I wonder how those young Giants manage to make such a racket?" grumbled Mother Graymouse. "I've been trying for an hour to rock Baby Squealer to sleep and the poor dear is wide awake now. Such a din, I've seldom heard." "It's their Christmas presents, Mammy," replied Silver Ears. "Ruth has a toy piano." "And Robert blows his new cornet and beats his drum," finished Limpy-toes.
Baby Squealer never cried "Boo-hoo!" once all that long summer day. He played with Baby Wee as smiling and happy as could be. "The darling is always as good as gold when he is out doors," said Mother Graymouse. "I always said it was fresh air and sunshine that made Wee so healthy," agreed Ma Field-Mouse.
Do come in and take off your bonnet." "We did not know that you had moved, Debbie," said Mother Graymouse as she untied Squealer's bonnet strings. "How did it happen?" Tears came into Mrs. Field-Mouse's eyes. "Oh, it was dreadful, Betsey, just dreadful! One bright, sunshiny morning in the spring, there came a terrible earthquake. All in a minute, our home was a mass of ruins.
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.
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