Tom, Dot and Talking Mouse | Page 4

come home with me; and, Dot, you shall begin to have birthdays to-morrow!"
"And some bread and dripping to-night--all across the loaf?" Dot asked anxiously.
"Yes, Dot, lots of times across the loaf if you want it."
"I will sell feather brushes for you," said Dot with enthusiasm.
Tom laughed. He had never laughed before all the summer through.
When Tom and Dot reached the mill it was quite dark, and Dot had to stand still in the doorway while the miller lit his candle. When the candle was lit the first thing Dot saw was the little brown mouse scudding across the table. She clapped her hands with delight, for she was not a bit afraid of mice. But the noise she made frightened the mouse, and it ran into its hole and never came out again all that night.
[Illustration: Mouse at mouse-hole]
Tom slept on a heap of flour bags, for you see he had tucked Dot up snugly in his bed; but he slept soundly and well, for it is not so much the kind of bed we lie on, as the thoughts we lie down with, that give us pleasant sleep, and of all thoughts the best is that of having done some good and unselfish action in the day.
Dot proved uncommonly useful next morning. Tiny creature though she was, she was quite learned in domestic affairs. She lit the fire and tidied up the room before Tom was even awake. Indeed, when he did wake, it was to see her perched on his chair peeping into the cupboard to find the breakfast service. Tom's breakfast service was not extensive. It consisted of a huge cup and saucer a good deal chipped, two plates and a jam pot, this last article doing duty as a sugar-basin.
Dot was evidently well used to make-shifts, for she even invented a new one. Upon the mantelshelf was a curious old vase with a griffin's head surrounding it. It was shaped like a jug, so Dot took it down and washed it, saying to herself, "This will make a fine milk-jug."
"A fine milk-jug?" yawned the miller from his flour-bag couch. "Ah, to be sure! children want milk to drink." And with this he threw on his clothes, and hastily washed himself in a water-butt which stood near the mill steps. Then he called to Dot. "Come, little one, bring your milk-jug; we will go to the farm for milk for your breakfast."
"But we want to fetch the milk in a can," objected Dot.
Tom scratched his head in a bewildered way for a moment, then a happy thought struck him. "My beer-can will do, won't it?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Dot seriously, "only first it must be scrubbed."
So Tom scrubbed the can obediently, and when it shone sufficiently the two started off to a neighbouring farm to buy the milk.
On the way from the farm a strange thing happened. Tom and Dot were trudging merrily along a little lane, when they perceived a woman crouching under a hedge, holding in her arms a bundle wrapped in a shawl. The woman might have escaped notice, perhaps, had not a cry proceeded from the bundle. Tom had of late heard so many cries in his heart, that his ear readily lent itself to one from outside. He came up to the woman, therefore, at once and said, "You have a little one wrapped in that, haven't you? Is it hungry? If it is, here is some milk."
At first the woman did not raise her head. It was hidden in the shawl which covered the infant, so the miller repeated his question. Then the woman looked up, and the eyes which met Tom's were those of Anne Grey. She knew Tom at once, but it was with no smile of pleasure that she greeted him. Her words, too, when they came, were hard and cold. She only said, "So, Tom Lecky, you see what I have come to; rejoice in it!"
"Does the little one want food?" Tom asked again, without noticing in any way the words or the tone of the woman.
"And if it does?" said Anne, with a bitter little laugh.
"Why, if it does, I'm ready to give it some," said Tom, passing his coat-sleeve before his eyes for a moment. Then 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