Tom, Dot and Talking Mouse | Page 5

removing it suddenly
he smiled into the woman's face--an April sort of smile, which scarcely
knows whether to cloud over or to beam out with full warmth--and said,
"And if you want anything I can give, it is yours for the taking."
The woman burst into tears, and the child, which was scarcely more
than a baby, cried to bear her company. It was then that little Dot came
forward and took the shawled bundle in her own baby arms, and
commenced to feed it from the milk-can.
"How is it you are so early?" inquired Tom anxiously, for he knew that
Anne's new home was many miles away.
"I have been here all night," she made answer.
"Anne, the cottage is still there, and the bit of furniture in it; go there,
Anne--go now."
So Anne went after all to the cottage, which had been so long prepared
for her, but it was not with Tom. He stayed at the mill with little Dot.

And every night, when the child lay sleeping, the brown mouse crept
out to bear the miller company. It was about this time that Tom thought
the mouse began to talk to him as it had talked with the flowers in the
garden the night he had found Dot.
"Miller," said the mouse, "is it not small things which make one
happy?"
"Some things may content one, but it takes great ones to make one
happy," said he.
"Contentment is happiness," said the mouse.
Now while the mouse was speaking, the candle, which was, as we have
said, in the neck of a bottle instead of a candlestick, went out, and
dropped right to the bottom of the bottle. There was a tiny spark seen
for some time through the green glass, and by its light the miller saw
many strange things, and the mouse was mixed up with them all.
The first thing he saw was a misty little ladder, made apparently of the
cobwebs which festooned the mill. The ladder reached from the table
right up through the floor and through the next floor, and from thence
right up through the roof. A star was seen gleaming on its top. Up this
strange ladder the little mouse ran, and the miller saw it by the light of
the tiny spark, which somehow shot out upward rays which lit the
ladder from top to bottom. When the mouse reached the top a tiny
creature floated down from the star and presented it with a gift. This the
mouse brought down and laid on the table before the miller. At first he
thought it was sparks from the candle, but as he looked closer he found
glittering words were formed by them; but they were in a language he
could not read.
[Illustration: Mouse at cobweb ladder]
"What is the language?" he asked the mouse.
"The language of the eyes," answered the mouse.

"Read it to me," said the miller.
And the mouse read: "Tom, I am sorry--I am lonely; my husband and
parents are dead. Tom, have you forgotten the old days?"
"It must be Anne's eyes which say this," cried the miller. "Yes, I might
have read it all along."
Then the filmy ladder disappeared, and in the green light rose the little
garden where the spring flowers were growing now. Within the arbour
where Tom had gone to sleep one night sat Anne, her hands engaged in
knitting, her eyes looking far away.
"Mouse, what is she thinking?" asked the miller. "You seem to know
everything."
"Her eyes are talking," said the mouse.
"And what do they say?"
"They say, 'The miller only pities me; he no longer loves me.'"
"Ah, the eyes are wrong," cried Tom. "I will go to her and tell her so."
"Not yet," said the mouse. "Wait."
And then among the flowers there appeared a little child, and the child
spoke low to the flowers.
"Listen," said the mouse.
"Oh, flowers, I have no father," murmured the child.
"Stop," cried the miller, "I must go."
And as he said this the light went quite out, and in the dim starlight
which shone through the window he saw the mouse nibbling a crust of
bread near his elbow. But for this little rustling sound, and Dot's
breathing, all was silent. Yet there were voices in the miller's heart

which made themselves heard well enough. One was the voice of Hope,
the other the voice of Love.
So next day, when the sun was setting, Tom put on his best clothes, and,
taking Dot by the hand, walked towards Brooks's cottage. When they
reached it, Anne's little child stood in the gateway.
"Little one," said Tom, stooping and kissing the child, "is mother in the
garden?"
The child pointed to the arbor.