The Graymouse Family | Page 7

often played. Wink and Wiggle went along also.
"How nice the apples smell," said Buster.
"They taste good, too," answered Scamper. Then the five little mice each chose a red apple to nibble.
"Aren't we glad we came, Limpy-toes?" cried Buster.
"It is good fun," said Limpy-toes. "What is that big yellow thing, Scamper?"
"That's our play-house," cried Wink and Wiggle.
[Illustration: "How nice the Apples smell," said Buster.]
"We made it out of a pumpkin," explained Scamper.
"Just see the windows and doors," said Wink.
"Come inside and see how nice it is," invited Wiggle.
They all took their apples and sat down inside the toy house.
"It is very cunning," said Limpy-toes.
"But it must have been hard work to chew it all out," added Buster.
"It did take a long time," admitted Scamper cheerily, "but it was great sport. We like to make our own playthings."
Then Buster and Limpy-toes had to tell the cousins all about the wonderful toys in the Giant's play-room. It was a long story. By the time it was finished, Dot called them to a nice lunch.
In the afternoon, Uncle Squeaky and his wife returned from the city.
"Bless my stars!" cried Uncle Squeaky, "if here aren't three of the Graymouse kiddies! Glad to see you, my dears."
Aunt Squeaky asked about Mother Graymouse's health and wanted to know all about Baby Squealer and the twins. Then she hurried away to change her best gown for a house dress and put away all the bundles.
Uncle Squeaky took down his fiddle and began to play a jig. "Now, Buster Boy, sing us a song?" he coaxed.
Buster loved to sing; so he made no excuses. He folded his paws just as Mammy had taught him and sang:
"Cheese oh! Merry oh!"
while Uncle Squeaky played softly on the fiddle.
"Sing your newest song, Buster," reminded Silver Ears.
Uncle Squeaky was delighted with "Traps are our enemies."
He made them all stand up in a row and sing it over and over until they knew it by heart.
"A very good lesson in rhyme," said Aunt Squeaky wagging her head approvingly.
It seemed a very short time before it began to grow dark.
"We must start home now," said Silver Ears. "We promised Mammy."
"Good mice always keep their promises," said Uncle Squeaky as he filled their pockets with dried pumpkin seeds and raisins.
When Mother Graymouse, with Squealer and the twins, returned from making Granny Whiskers an afternoon call, she found Silver Ears and Buster setting the tea-table.
"Where is Limpy-toes?" she asked.
"He was here only a few minutes ago," said Silver Ears.
Supper was ready and still Limpy-toes was missing. Mother Graymouse grew uneasy.
"Are you sure he came all the way home from Uncle Squeaky's with you, Silvy?"
"Quite sure, Mammy. He brought this bag of crullers which Aunt Squeaky sent to you."
Mother Graymouse became very anxious when supper was over and still Limpy-toes did not come. She stole into the play-room and looked in every corner. 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. Perhaps I may meet him."
Mother Graymouse went home somewhat comforted and laden with a pocketful of good things which Granny sent the children from the pantry shelves.
Grand-daddy Whiskers and Uncle Squeaky searched all that evening, flashing their lanterns into every dark corner, but at midnight they had to tell Mother Graymouse that no trace of Limpy-toes was to be found.
Poor Mammy cried and cried. All night long she wondered which enemy had captured her oldest son. Could it be old Thomas Cat? Was he caught in some dreadful trap, or had he eaten poison like poor Daddy? At last she fell asleep.
[Ilustration: My poor, dear Limpy-toes, she sobbed.]
In the morning as she prepared the little bowls of oat-meal, she kept wiping her eyes.
"How shall I ever tell the poor dears that their brother is dead?" she sighed.
At last, Silver Ears, Buster, Tiny and Teenty were seated around the breakfast-table sipping their hot porridge. Mother Graymouse was dressing Baby Squealer who was howling, as usual.
"Where is Limpy-toes, Mammy?" asked Tiny. "Didn't he come home?"
"Sniff! sniff!" went Mother Graymouse. "My poor children, I fear you will never see your dear brother again."
While she was speaking, there came the far-off patter, patter, scratch, scratch, of somebody climbing up to the attic.
"Grand-daddy Whiskers," guessed Mother Graymouse, "or it may be Uncle Squeaky bringing us bad news."
And then, up through the hole in the attic floor, who should appear but Limpy-toes himself!
"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