Tom, Dot and Talking Mouse | Page 6

week later, and she said, "There are many mice here. Why don't you set traps for them?"
"I cannot do that," said the miller. "One mouse has taught me more than all the books I have read. The mice are welcome to what they take of the grain."
And Anne questioned no more. It was enough for her that she and Tom were together. So I suppose the little brown mouse, or at least its descendants, still live on unmolested at the mill.

THE OLD ROCKING-HORSE
He was a very old rocking-horse indeed. His first master, sunny-headed little Robbie, had grown into a man with a beard, and had given his old playmate to his sister's children.
These children had in their turn grown into great schoolboys, so the old horse, like the other toys, was left forsaken in the big nursery at the top of the house. Broken-down furniture and old magazines had found their way there, together with travelling-trunks and portmanteaux. Spiders had spun their webs over the windows, and dust lay thick on everything.
When little Basil found his way into the old nursery it seemed to him like an enchanted palace. The spiders and dust only made him think that somewhere he would find the "sleeping beauty." The litter of toys and paper and boxes suggested hidden treasure. Once in this room of delightful possibilities, he did not care how long his mother and aunt continued their wearisome talks downstairs of what they called "old times." He stretched himself on a faded couch while he considered where to begin his operations, and stared at the deeply-cut initials on the mantelshelf, and regretted that the chimney-piece in the nursery at home, being stone, did not lend itself to similar delights. With a sigh he rolled over, and the rocking-horse met his gaze. He looked at it so long that his eyes blinked. Older people would have said that just then the old horse creaked--as old things have a way of doing. But children understand these things better than old folks who have grown dull. Basil knew quite well that the old horse had sighed, and he asked him what was the matter.
"I was only wishing some one would smarten me up a bit," said the horse. "My left eye is in that box with the tin soldiers. My tail is tied to a stick in that cupboard where the tools are--a bit of glue would stick both in. And one stirrup is nailed to the table-drawer for a handle. It could be got off, and tied to my saddle-strap with a bit of string. My mane is gone for ever. Johnny put it on a mask for whiskers one Guy Fawkes' day, and Herbert threw it in the bonfire. I don't suppose any of the nails can be got out that Tom knocked into my sides; they are in too tight. Nor can the buttons and marbles be got out of my inside that Johnny put in through the hole in my neck. But I might be smartened up a little!"
"Oh, if that is all you want I dare say I can help you," said Basil, jumping up and running to the cupboard. "Here's your tail, anyway! and here's a bottle of liquid glue too. Now I'll look for your eye."
"You know," went on the old horse, "I heard the mother saying the other day that she would send me back to my old home if I were not so shabby."
Basil, who had found the missing eye, was now fixing it in its place with plenty of glue, which ran down and dropped off the horse's nose. Basil was sure he saw a tear drop from the other eye.
"Does it hurt?" he asked sympathetically.
"Oh, I don't mind that," said the horse. "It is like old times to be hurt by a little boy; besides, one must always suffer if one would look fine."
"Yes; nurse says something like that when I cry while she combs my hair," said Basil.
"Robbie didn't cry to have his hair combed," said the horse shortly. "He didn't even cry when the soap was in his eyes. By now he has grown into a brave man! When he fell off me and made his leg bleed he said it was nothing, and just got on me again. But he did cry when he parted from me."
"Well, he was a coward once, anyway."
"No, he wasn't," snorted the horse. "It isn't cowardly to cry because you are leaving some one you love."
"All the same, don't toss your head like that, or your eye will drop out again," cried Basil warningly. "But you may go on telling me about Robbie."
"I was his dearest friend," went on the horse. "He told me all about his troubles, and showed me all his new things; and