Boy Blue and His Friends | Page 5

pin a tail on the sheep.
But he pinned it right on the corner of the table cloth.

Then it was Mary's turn. She shut her eyes tight and walked very
straight.
She was going to pin the tail in just the right place.
All the children stood still and watched her cross the room.
She pinned on the tail, and how they all shouted!
She had put it into the sheep's mouth.
But she did better than any one else.
So Bo-peep's mother gave her a little woolly lamb to take home to her
baby brother.
All the children had a good time at the party.
They played games and ate ice-cream and cake and candy.
Then they sang songs, and Alice's mother told them some stories.
Last of all they sang "Little Bo-peep" again.
And to this day they call Alice "Little
Bo-peep."
[Illustration: "All the children had a good time at the party."]
Hickory, dickory, dock!
The mouse ran up the clock.
The clock
struck one
And down he run.
Hickory, dickory, dock!
HICKORY, DICKORY, DOCK
It was very quiet all over the house.
Little Boy Blue was fast asleep, dreaming of Santa Claus.
Boy Blue's father and mother were asleep, too, but I don't know what
they were dreaming about.

"Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."
Hark! Was that a mouse? Yes, I think it was.
Some one was awake after all.
Mr. and Mrs. Mouse lived in a hole in the pantry wall.
They were talking quite loud now.
"Yes, we must move right away," Mrs. Mouse was saying.
"This nest is not large enough for six."
"That is true," said Mr. Mouse. "I can't get my tail in now, and when
the babies grow, it will be still worse."
"But where shall we go?" said Mrs. Mouse.
"I will go house-hunting this very night, my dear."
"Be sure you find a large house, where the cat can't find us."
"Yes, indeed!" said Mr. Mouse. Then he whisked through a little hole
and went away.
"Be careful, dear," called Mrs. Mouse, and she peeped through the hole
and watched him out of sight.
Mr. Mouse ran across the kitchen floor into the dining-room.
It was very still!
Then he ran into the hall.
"This is too far from the kitchen," he thought.
"I am afraid the babies would have to go to bed hungry in here."

Then he went back into the dining-room.
"This would be a good place for us," he thought.
He looked all around the room.
Where could he find a home?
It must be high up out of the reach of Pussy Cat, and big enough for
Mrs. Mouse and her four babies.
What was that in the corner?
It was like a box, only very, very tall.
Mr. Mouse certainly did not know what it was, but I will tell you.
It was Boy Blue's grandfather's clock.
It had stood in that corner a long, long time, but Mr. Mouse had never
seen it before.
"I think I could make a good nest on top of that box," he thought.
"Pussy Cat could not get up there, I know."
So Mr. Mouse began to run up the clock.
He heard it ticking very loudly.
"Tick-tock! Tick-tock!" it was saying.
"I wonder what that noise is," he said to himself.
"I hope it doesn't make that noise in the day-time.
"It might keep the babies awake."
He climbed a little higher, looking this way and that.

"I think Mrs. Mouse will like this," he thought.
Just then the clock struck one.
How Mr. Mouse trembled!
He nearly fell off the clock, he was so frightened.
He took one jump down to the floor, and then he ran.
Oh, how he ran! Across the dining-room, across the kitchen, across the
pantry, and into his hole he ran!
"Oh, my dear, my dear! what is the matter?" cried his wife. "Did you
see the dog? Was the cat chasing you?"
"No, no!" panted Mr. Mouse.
"I was hunting for a house, and I climbed up on a tall box.
"Just as I had found the very place for us, there was an awful noise
inside the box."
"That was a clock, my dear," said his wife.
"It tells Boy Blue's mother when to have dinner, and when to put the
baby to bed.
"I have heard her telling Boy Blue about it."
"I think it was telling me it was time to go home," said Mr. Mouse, and
they both laughed softly so as not to wake up the babies.
The next night Mr. Mouse went house hunting in the barn.
There he found a very good home in a box of grain.
Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With
silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all