The Graymouse Family | Page 5

paws and I'm most buried up."
"Well, my paws are all sticky," drawled Buster.
"Get to work, Buster, and help Tiny," called Silver Ears, sharply, "or I'll come through the hole and shake you till you'll see stars."
At last every stick of the pretty colored candy was pushed through into the Graymouse side of the attic. Teenty frisked through and Silver Ears danced after her, with the candy bag rolled in a little bundle under one arm.
When Mother Graymouse came home just at dusk, after a delightful visit with Aunt Squeaky and all the little Cousin Squeakies, a fine surprise awaited her.
Limpy-toes had returned from the store with plenty of cheese, a slice of boiled ham and some cute little oyster crackers. Silver Ears and the twins had set the table. At each place they had laid a stick of red and white striped candy.
The cupboard door was ajar, and even before Mother Graymouse had put Baby Squealer in his cradle, or taken off her bonnet, she caught sight of the heap of Christmas candies and the popcorn, which looked like a white snow-bank upon the cupboard shelf.
"Sniff! Sniff!" Out came Mammy's handkerchief as she sank into her rocking chair, bonnet, baby and all.
"Boo-hoo!" cried Baby Squealer.
The five little mice looked dismayed.
"What is the trouble now, Mammy?" asked Silver Ears, sadly. "We thought you would be glad. Just see this candy bag. Won't it make a nice shopping bag for you if we make it smaller?"
Mother Graymouse wiped her eyes.
"And so I am glad, my dear Silvy," she smiled. "Did ever a poor widow mouse have such good, helpful children? When I'm sad, I cry. And when I'm glad, I cry, also. Your poor Daddy used to think it very queer. But never mind, my dears. Bring your little stools and we will eat this splendid supper before the tea gets cold."
CHAPTER IV
MOTHER GRAYMOUSE KEEPS SCHOOL
Silver Ears was very angry and excited one morning when she returned from a visit to the play-room. Her eyes were pink and swollen from crying as she sat beside Squealer in the chimney corner.
"She is a hateful old Norah, Mammy," she burst out at last. "Ruth Giant wants me to be her little pet mouse. I heard her tell Robert. And she tossed me the nicest bit of cake I ever tasted. It was frosted and stuffed with strawberry jam.
"Then that horrid old Norah Maid came in and shoo-ed me with her broom. I hid under the doll's bed. You wouldn't believe the bad things that freckly-faced Norah said. She told Ruth Giant that she wasn't going to have nasty little mice around, running up her skirts, not if she knew it. She stuck her snubby nose up in the air and said it seemed as if the room smelled mousey. Then when I started to run home, because I couldn't listen to such talk a minute longer, she cried--'There he goes now, Miss Ruth! The nasty, thieving, little beast! If there's a creature I can't abide, it's a mouse, to be sure!'
"I'm not a nasty little beast, am I, Mammy? I have a nice warm bath every Saturday night."
"Every Saturday night, the whole six of you," agreed Mother Graymouse wagging her head proudly. "And what could a body ask more of a neat mother mouse with a big family?"
"The Giants have a bath every morning," said Limpy-toes. "Granny Whiskers says so, and of course Granny knows."
"A bath every morning!" cried Silver Ears. "Just think of that."
"Just imagine it!" drawled Buster.
"Well, they must be very dirty children," decided Mother Graymouse. "A bath every morning! I'd be ashamed if my children could not keep clean longer than that. Ruth Giant isn't a bit cleaner, sweeter, nor daintier than my pretty Silver Ears, if I do say so, as shouldn't."
"I'm not a thief either, Mammy," sobbed Silver Ears.
"When that Maid Norah goes about killing flies by the dozens, does she call herself a murderer?" demanded Mother Graymouse with indignation. "When that old black Tom gobbles up an innocent mouse for his supper, does she call him a murdering beast? Neither are we thieves," went on Mother Graymouse hotly. "Even mice must live, and unless we eat we will surely die. It is very ill-natured of the Giants to begrudge us the few poor scraps that we are able to pick up. But don't ever let me hear of your eating any cake again, Silver Ears, even if it is stuffed with jam, without first showing it to me," she finished in a severe tone.
"But, Mammy, I'm sure Ruth Giant would not give me cake that was not fit to eat."
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.