CHAPTER III.
THE grandmother's story was received with great approbation, and thedifferent members of the family commented on it, each after his fashion.
"I should like to have been Chop-Chin!" exclaimed Toto. "How exciting itmust have been! Only think, Coon, of talking to the Emperor in that way,and scolding him as if he were a little boy."
"Well, I never saw an Emperor," said the raccoon; "but I certainlyshould not wish to talk to one, if they are all such wretched creaturesas Wah-Song. _I_ should like to have been the Finishing-Toucher; then ifhe had pulled _my_ nose--hum! ha! we should see!"
"Dear Madam," said the bear, who had been staring meditatively into thefire, "there is one thing in the story that I do not understand; thatis--well--you spoke of the boy's having a pig-tail."
"Yes, Bruin!" said the grandmother. "A Chinese pig-tail, you know."
"Yes, certainly," said Bruin. "A Chinese pig's tail it would naturallybe. Now, I confess I do not see _how_ a pig's tail could be worn on thehead, or how it could be unbraided; that is, if the Chinese pigs havetails like that of our friend in the sty yonder."
Toto laughed aloud at this, and even the grandmother could not helpsmiling a very little; but she gently told Bruin what a Chinaman'spig-tail was, and how he wore it. Meantime, Miss Mary, the parrot,looked on with an air of dignified amusement.
"My respected father," she said presently, "spent some years in China.It is a fine country, though too far from Africa for my taste."
"Tell us about your father, Miss Mary!" exclaimed the squirrel. "Fineold bird he must have been, eh?"
"He was, indeed!" replied the parrot, with some emotion. "He was a noblebird. His beak, which I am said to have inherited, was the envy of everyparrot in Central Africa. He could whistle in nine languages, and histail--but as the famous poet Gabblio has sweetly sung,--
"'All languages and tongues must fail, In speaking of Polacko's tail.'
"Polacko was my father's name," she explained. "He was universallyrespected. Ah, me!"
"But how came he to go to China?" asked Toto.
"He was captured, my dear, and taken there when very young. He livedthere for twenty years, with one of the chief mandarins of the empire.He led a happy life, with a perch and ring of ebony and silver, thefreedom of the house, and chow-chow four times a day. At last, however,the young grandson of the mandarin insisted upon my father's learning toeat with chopsticks. The lofty spirit of Polacko could not brook thisoutrage, and the door being left open one day he flew away and made hisway to Africa, the home of his infancy, where he passed the rest of hislife. I drop a tear," added Miss Mary, raising her claw gracefully toher eyes, "to his respected memory."
Nobody saw the tear, but all looked grave and sympathetic, and thegood-natured bear said, "Quite right, I'm sure. Very proper, certainly!"
But now the grandmother rose and folded up her knitting.
"Dear friends, and Toto, boy," she said, "it is bed-time, now, for theclock has struck nine. Good-night, and pleasant dreams to you all. Mygood Bruin, you will cover the fire, and lock up the house?"
"Trust me for that, dear Madam!" said the bear, heartily.
"Come, then, Cracker," said the old lady. "Your basket is all ready foryou, and it is high time you were in it." And with the squirrel perchedon her shoulder she went into her own little room, closing the doorbehind her.
After exchanging mutual "good-nights," the other members of the familysought their respective sleeping-places. The birds flew to theirperches, and each, tucking her head and one leg away in some mysteriousmanner, became suddenly a very queer looking creature indeed.
"Coon," said Toto, "come and sleep on my bed, won't you? My feet werecold, last night, and you do make such a delightful foot-warmer."
"Humph!" said the raccoon, doubtfully. "I don't know, Toto. It won't beas warm for _me_ as my basket, though no doubt it would be nice foryou."
"I'll put the big blue dressing-gown over you," said Toto. "You know youlike that, because you can put your nose in the pocket, and keep itwarm."
"All right," cried the raccoon. "Come along, then!" and off they went.
Bruin now proceeded to rake the ashes over the fire, covering it neatlyand carefully. He filled the kettle; he drew the bolts of door andwindows; and finally, when all was snug and safe, the good bear laidhimself down on the hearth-rug, and soon was fast asleep.
Now all was quiet in the little cottage. Outside, the snow still fell,softly, steadily, silently. In the shed, Bridget, the cow, was sleepingsoundly, with a cock and three hens roosting on her back, according totheir invariable custom. In the warm, covered sty the pig also slept. Hehad no name, the pig; he would have scorned one.
"I am a pig," he was wont to say, "and as such every one knows me. Thereis no danger of my being mistaken for anything else." Which was verytrue.
But though slumber held fast, apparently, all the dwellers in cottage,shed, and sty, there were in reality two pairs of eyes which wereparticularly wide-awake at this moment. They were very black eyes, verybright eyes, and they were, if you wish to know, peeping into thekitchen through the crack under the cellar-door, to see what they couldsee.
"Nobody there!" said little brown Squeak.
"No, nobody there!" said little brown Scrabble.
"Hark! what was that noise?" cried Squeak.
"Only the wind!" said Scrabble.
"Do you think we can get through the crack?" said Squeak.
"Nothing like trying!" said Scrabble.
"Scrabble!" went little brown Squeak.
"Squeak!" went little brown Scrabble.
And the next moment they were in the kitchen.
It was nearly dark, but not quite, for the covered embers still sent outa dusky glow. It was warm; the floor was smooth and flat; there was asmell as if there might be something to eat, somewhere. Altogether, itwas a very pleasant place for two little mice to play in; and as theyhad it all to themselves, why should they not play? Play they did,therefore, with right good-will; scampering hither and thither, rollingover and over each other, poking their little sharp noses into everycrack and cranny they could find. Oh, what fun it was! How smooth thefloor! how pleasant the dry, warm air, after their damp cellar-home!
But about that smell, now! where did it come from? Playing and rompingis hungry work, and the two little brown mouse-stomachs are empty. Itseems to come from under that cupboard door. The crack is wide enough tolet out the smell, but not quite wide enough to let in Messrs. Scrabbleand Squeak. If they could enlarge it a bit, now, with the sharp littletools which they always carry in their mouths! So said, so done!"Nibble! nibble! nibble! Gnaw! gnaw! gnaw!" It is very fatiguing work;but, see! the crack widens. If one made oneself _very_ small, now? It isdone, and the two mice find themselves in the immediate neighborhood ofa large piece of squash pie. Oh, joy! oh, delight! too great for speechor squeak, but just right for attack. "Nibble! nibble! Gobble! gobble!"and soon the plate shines white and empty, with only the smell of theroses--I mean the pie--clinging round it still. There is nothing else toeat in the cupboard, is there? Yes! what is this paper package whichsmells so divinely, sending a warm, spicy, pungent fragrance through theair? Ah! pie was good, but this will be better! Nibble through the paperquickly, and then-- Alas! alas! the spicy fragrance means _ginger_, andit is not only warm, but _hot_. Oh, it burns! oh, it scorches! fire isin our mouths, in our noses, our throats, our little brown stomachs, nowonly too well filled. Water! water! or we die, and never see our cool,beloved cellar again. Hurry down from the shelf, creep through thecrack, rush frantically round the kitchen. Surely there is a smell ofwater? Yes, yes! there it is, in that tin basin, yonder. Into it we go,splashing, dashing, drinking in the silver coolness, washing this fierytorment from our mouths and throats.
Thoroughly sobered by this adventure, the two little mice sat on thefloor beside the basin, dripping and shivering, the water trickling fromtheir long tails, their short ears, their sharp-pointed noses. Theyblinked
sadly at each other with their bright black eyes.
"Shall we go home now, Scrabble?" said Squeak. "It is late, and MotherMouse will be looking for us."
"I'm so c-c-c-cold!" shivered Scrabble, who a moment before had beendevoured by burning heat. "Don't you think we might dry ourselves beforethat fire before we go down?"
"Yes!" replied Squeak, "we will. But--what is that great black thing infront of the fire?"
"A hill, of course!" said the other. "A black hill, I should say. Shallwe climb over it, or go round it?"
"Oh, let us climb over it!" said Squeak. "The exercise will help to warmus; and it is such a queer-looking hill, I want to explore it."
So they began to climb up the vast black mass, which occupied the wholespace in front of the fireplace.
"How soft the ground is! and it is warm, too!"
"Because it is near the fire, stupid!"
"And what is this tall black stuff that grows so thick all over it? Itisn't a bit like grass, or trees either."
"It _is_ grass, of course, stupid! what else could it be? Come on! comeon! we are nearly at the top, now."
"Scrabble," said little brown Squeak, stopping short, "you may call mestupid as much as you please, but _I_ don't like this place. I--I--Ithink it is moving."
"_Moving?_" said little brown Scrabble, in a tone of horror.
And then the two little mice clutched each other with their little paws,and wound their little tails round each other, and held on tight, tight,for the black mass _was_ moving! There was a long, stretching,undulating movement, slow but strong; and then came a quick, violent,awful shake, which sent the two brothers slipping, sliding, tumblingheadlong to the floor. Picking themselves up as well as they could, andcasting one glance back at the black hill, they rushed shrieking andsqueaking to the cellar-door, and literally flung themselves through thecrack. For in that glance they had seen a vast red cavern, a yawninggulf of fire, open suddenly in the black mass, which was now heaving andshuddering all over. And from this fiery cavern came smoke and flame (atleast so the mice said when they got home to the maternal hole), and anawful roaring sound, which shook the whole house and made the windowsrattle.
"Home to our Mother Mouse! Home to our Mother Mouse! and never, never,will we leave our cellar again!"
But Bruin sat up on his haunches, and scratched himself and stretchedhimself, and gave another mighty yawn.
"Haw-wa-wow-you-_wonk_!" said the good bear. "Those must have been verylively fleas, to wake me out of a sound sleep. I wonder where they havecrept to! I don't seem to feel them now. Ha! humph! Yaow! very sleepy!Not morning yet; take another nap."
And stretching his huge length once more along the floor, Bruin sleptagain.