Christmas In A Mouse Hole

       The baby was not quite ready to go to Grandmother's for Christmas week when the carriage came; and then everybody hurried so, that one of his little red gloves fell to the floor and was not noticed.

       At least, it was not noticed by the family; and when I tell you who did notice it, the story will begin.

       At the time these things happened, and that was only last Christmas, a swift, sleek Mouse lived in the kitchen pantry, back of the tall brown jar that held the rye flour. His doorway was small, but large enough for his swift, sleek mate; and as for his four children, although already sleek, they were not yet swift enough to leave their comfortable home with safety - so the size of the doorway did not trouble them.

       Mr. Mouse himself went everywhere in the house, and saw everything, as was proper for the head of a family who had a mate and four little ones to support. Mrs. Mouse was country bred, and knew very well that she had made a great match when she came to town to live, and  to a home in the pantry itself, than which no location could be more elegant, or more convenient.

       The shelf where the bread box stood was exactly above her front door and no one can cut bread without making at least a few crumbs. The flour barrel stood in the corner; and on other shelves were round shining boxes holding rice, sago, corn meal, and sugar, any one of which might be left open at any moment by a careless cook. Swift, sleek Mr. Mouse was a fine provider and brought many good things to the home nest; but even when he was away on business it took his mate but a moment to pick up a wholesome luncheon in the pantry for the entire family.

       Mr. Mouse visited the nursery quite often, having found a private way of his own up there through the walls, and as there were several children in the nursery, all very sociable and chatty, with a sociable and chatty nurse, he gained a good deal of information in these various visits which he always brought down to his mate.

       'My dear,' he remarked to her one evening, 'the children in the nursery are talking all the time of something they call Christmas.'

       'Is it something to eat?' squeaked one of the small mice, greedily.

       'It is not,' replied his father, severely; 'and I thought your mother told you some time ago to curl up and go to sleep.'

       'Little pitchers always have big ears!' said Mother Mouse, with a smile; 'but tell me, dear, what is this Christmas, do you think?'

       'I hardly know'' said Mr. Mouse, slowly. 'It seems to have something to do with eating, for the children talk of fruits and candies; and something to do with stockings, for they are going to take big ones to their grandmother's and hang them up when they go to bed, they say. It seems to have something to do with presents, too, for somebody is going to put things they like in those stockings in the night, and when the children wake up in the morning, they will run and find them.'

       'It must be their fathers and mothers that put presents in their stockings,' exclaimed Mrs.Mouse.

       'The children do not say so,' answered Mr. Mouse, shaking his head. 'They talk about somebody they call Santa Claus.'

       'And who is this Santa Claus, then?'

       'My dear, I do not know. I learn a great deal in the nursery; but often I have to scurry back to my hole at the very most interesting part of the children's talk.'

       'And an absurd thing it is!' cried his mate, excitedly. 'As if you wouldn't be an ornament to any party! But listen, my love; why cannot we have a 'Christmas' for our children, too? We can get fruit and candy for them - but oh, I forgot; they have no stockings!' and she brushed away a tear as she looked at the forty bare pink toes in the nest.

       'Stockings! Stockings!' murmured Mr. Mouse, thoughtfully. 'Now I wonder if that wouldn't do!'

       'If what wouldn't do?' asked Mrs. Mouse, eagerly.

       'Do you know I saw something in the nursery to-day, after the children had gone, that I think might help us out?' said Mr. Mouse, rising from his seat. 'Everything is quiet in the nest now. Suppose you come upstairs with me and look.'

       The swift, sleek couple slipped softly through their doorway, ran across the pantry floor, and popped as swiftly into another hole behind the flour barrel. In a moment they were upstairs in, the nursery, and there, in the middle of the floor, lay the little red glove.

       'I do not know the exact use of this article, my dear,' said Mr. Mouse; 'but it has five bags on it which, carefully gnawed off, would certainly make stockings.'

       'Oh, wonderful!' cried his mate; 'four little stockings and a large one lefts over, that we can use for the storehouse. Now this is a find, and my babies can have 'Christmas' as well as the rest! You begin to gnaw off the bags, and I'll see what else I can find.'

       In a trice she was all over the room, squeaking with delight as she made each new discovery. There was an open box of cough-drops on the mantelpiece, a long piece of pink baby ribbon on the bureau, and in the wastebasket a paper bag with a few good peanuts among the empty shells. These she removed from the bag at once and carried them to her mate who was still hard at work on the little red glove.

       ''There is a box of candies, up there,'' she exclaimed; ''and we can carry them down one at a time, with the peanuts. The pink ribbon we will use to tie up the stockings, so that we can take them down home more easily. And let us take all the red cloth; it will make a nice warm carpet - and so cheerful for the children.''

       The glove fingers were gnawed off by this time  and were soon tied up with the pink ribbon, Mr. Mouse dragging this bundle himself and using the front stairs, as nobody was at home to object, Mrs. Mouse followed with the rest of the glove, and then both made repeated trips till they had carried down the nuts and a dozen of the cough- drops. By that time it was almost morning, and the swift, sleek couple curled up for an hour's rest.

       As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Mouse led the mouselings, for the first time, out into the pantry and advised them to try climbing up the flour barrel, as far as they could go, until he should come for them. Then he hurried back, and with the help of his mate hung the four red stockings on four nails which had been driven too far through the wainscoting and whose points projected above the nest.

       In each stocking was a cough-drop, a peanut, a bit of soda cracker from the pantry shelf, and, at the top, a pink neck ribbon which Mrs. Mouse had carefully gnawed off with her white teeth. The remainder of the red glove was spread upon the floor, and the thumb was set in the corner, full of grains of rice which had been picked up back of the rice box the previous day.

       'This is truly splendid!' exclaimed Mr. Mouse, as he looked at the preparations. 'Nothing finer

could be found in a palace! Suppose we have 'Christmas' now, while the light is good. Later in the day, you know, it is really quite dark in here.

       'It seems as if there ought to be music,' murmured Mrs. Mouse. 'We had music in the country at a party.

       'I might see if the Cricket would come,' suggested Mr. Mouse.

       'Oh, do, my dear,' cried his mate. 'A Cricket would be simply perfect! Tell him there's a warm red carpet on the floor, and everything cozy.'

       Off ran Mr. Mouse to the sitting-room fireplace and called and knocked, and knocked and called, until at last a sleepy voice droned out, 'What's wanted?'

       'You're wanted, Mr. Cricket, for a 'Christmas.'

       'What's that?' asked the Cricket, stretching his black head out from a crack in the warm bricks.'

        'I really don't know, myself,' said the Mouse; 'but it's something the children up in the nursery have gone away to get, and I'm going to have one for my family. There are treats for everybody at 'Christmas' and you hang up your stocking.'

       'I Haven't any stocking.' objected the Cricket, rather gruffly - for a Cricket.

       'No matter,' said the Mouse; I haven't one either have I? And neither has my mate. But there's a warm red carpet on the floor, and plenty of crumbs!'

       'Crumbs, hey? asked the Cricket. 'Well, I'll come, if the mouse-hole is warm enough.'

       'Come along, now; do!' cried the Mouse, 'and make music for the 'Christmas.' 

      The Cricket was waked up by that time, and did come along; and, behold, when they reached the mouse-hole, the four mouselings had all come in from the pantry, had washed their faces and their ears with their small paws, and sat in a row beside their mother, as still as chocolate mice.

       Well, there is no use trying to describe that 'Christmas.' You wouldn't believe how grand

it was unless you had been there. First, there were wonderful sweets which was a surprise to Mr. Mouse, for he didn't know that his mate had found a cardboard box of raisins in the pantry and had brought away some of the choicest. Then the Cricket had a feast of crumbs, all by himself; and then, while his black and glossy sides shone with contentment, he began to chirp.

        At this moment, when the small mice had been stuffed with raisins and their black eyes were round with wonder, Mr. Mouse cried: 'This is 'Christmas' mouselings. Now you may go and see what's in your stockings. Run along! Don't be afraid!'

       Afraid! I should say not!! You ought to have seen them race to the red glove-fingers, run up to the top of them, thrust in their little heads, and bring out the cough-drops, the peanuts, and the bits of cracker.

       But the pink ribbons puzzled them. 'What is this, Ma? What is this, Ma? What is this, Ma? What is this, Ma?' sounded in chorus, while Father Mouse looked on with the smile of one who has been about the world a bit.

       Then Mother Mouse called her children to her side, and around each soft, sleek neck she tied a pink ribbon. When this was done (and the little mice did look simply lovely!) she gave her hand to Father Mouse, and together, followed by the four little ones, they began to dance. And they all danced and whirled, and whirled and danced, while the Cricket looked on and made music. Oh, it was a grand party, and a 'Christmas' long to be remembered in the Mouse-hole! Wiggin and Smith

• Back through the mousehole . . .