Living, as he did, near the mill pond, Master Meadow Mouse saw a great deal of Paddy Muskrat. They had a number of tastes in common. They both liked lily bulbs. They both enjoyed swimming. They both disliked Peter Mink. They were bound to become great cronies—if for no other reason than the last.
By spring Paddy Muskrat knew Master Meadow Mouse well enough to ask him a very intimate question.
"Why does everybody call you 'Master'?" he inquired one day.
Master Meadow Mouse looked at him in a puzzled fashion for a moment or two.
"I don't know," he answered. "I don't know why, unless it's because they always have called me that. Don't you think it's a good name?" he asked Paddy Muskrat a bit anxiously.
"Oh, yes!" Paddy assured him. "There's no doubt that it's a good enough name. But it's one that's given to a youngster—to a mere child."
"I'm not a youngster!" Master Meadow Mouse cried. "Nobody can call me young. I'm almost a year old!"
"I thought so," said Paddy Muskrat, as if he knew he couldn't have been mistaken. "You're grown up. And yet they still call you 'Master' Meadow Mouse. If I were you I'd get folks to change that."