One evening Mousey made up his mind to leave his home and see the world. His world was the nursery, where just now all was dark and quiet, except for the flicker and glow of the fire in the grate. His home was a warm and cozy nest right under the boards, which his mother had made for him and his brothers.
But Mousey was tired of the nest, and when Mrs. Mouse had left her children to look for her supper he slipped out after her, and ran up the dark passage to the world above. He was a pretty little thing. His toes were pink and so was the tip of his nose. His coat was soft and brown and furry and his eyes shone like big black beads. His tail was a wonder, so long and so slender.
Scrit-scratch went his tiny feet on the nursery floor as he ran. What a lot of strange smells! thought Mousey. He sniffed first round the coal-box, and then near the cat's basket, and then under the table, where some cake-crumbs had fallen. The last smell made him so curious that he tasted a crumb with his little pink tongue, and then for the next few minutes he was busy. Nibble, nibble, one crumb after another, till he had had a good supper.
Soon Mousey found himself at the foot of the table-leg. "This goes up," said he, "and so will I.'' He stuck his sharp claws into the wood and up he went. The table-cloth, too, was a help, for he could stick his claws int that as well.
At last he was up, and there was a great surprise for Mousey. For in the middle stood a strange little house shut in by bars that shone like gold in the firelight. Behind the golden bars sat a golden prisoner. "Hurrah!" cried Mousey in his thin squeak, ''this must be the yellow mouse my mother has told me of. It is he who sings so loudly in the sunshine when we brown mice are hiding away. I will set him free and take him home and he shall teach us to sing loudly too."
Mousey gripped the golden bars with his tiny sharp teeth, and bit hard and fast. "Twing, twang," said the bars, and the golden prisoner woke. He ruffled his feathers and gave an angry squawk. "Ugly little brown mouse, what are you doing here? Squawk! squawk!"
Timid Mousey gave one look at him as he flew, beating his wings round his cage, and then rushed to the edge of the table. Down by the cloth he swung and scrit-scratched across the floor. He did not stop till he was safe in his cozy dark nest again. by H. W. Seers.
But Mousey was tired of the nest, and when Mrs. Mouse had left her children to look for her supper he slipped out after her, and ran up the dark passage to the world above. He was a pretty little thing. His toes were pink and so was the tip of his nose. His coat was soft and brown and furry and his eyes shone like big black beads. His tail was a wonder, so long and so slender.
Scrit-scratch went his tiny feet on the nursery floor as he ran. What a lot of strange smells! thought Mousey. He sniffed first round the coal-box, and then near the cat's basket, and then under the table, where some cake-crumbs had fallen. The last smell made him so curious that he tasted a crumb with his little pink tongue, and then for the next few minutes he was busy. Nibble, nibble, one crumb after another, till he had had a good supper.
Soon Mousey found himself at the foot of the table-leg. "This goes up," said he, "and so will I.'' He stuck his sharp claws into the wood and up he went. The table-cloth, too, was a help, for he could stick his claws int that as well.
At last he was up, and there was a great surprise for Mousey. For in the middle stood a strange little house shut in by bars that shone like gold in the firelight. Behind the golden bars sat a golden prisoner. "Hurrah!" cried Mousey in his thin squeak, ''this must be the yellow mouse my mother has told me of. It is he who sings so loudly in the sunshine when we brown mice are hiding away. I will set him free and take him home and he shall teach us to sing loudly too."
Mousey gripped the golden bars with his tiny sharp teeth, and bit hard and fast. "Twing, twang," said the bars, and the golden prisoner woke. He ruffled his feathers and gave an angry squawk. "Ugly little brown mouse, what are you doing here? Squawk! squawk!"
Timid Mousey gave one look at him as he flew, beating his wings round his cage, and then rushed to the edge of the table. Down by the cloth he swung and scrit-scratched across the floor. He did not stop till he was safe in his cozy dark nest again. by H. W. Seers.
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| "He ruffled his feathers and gave an angry squawk." |
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