He sat such a while that he had
to be asked if he would take some
dinner?
First she offered him cherry-
stones. "Thank you, thank you,
Mrs. Tittlemouse! No teeth, no
teeth, no teeth!" said Mr. Jackson.
He opened his mouth most
unnecessarily wide; he certainly had
not a tooth in his head.
Then she offered him thistle-
down seed—"Tiddly, widdly,
widdly! Pouff, pouff, puff." said
Mr. Jackson. He blew the thistle-
down all over the room.
"Thank you, thank you, thank
you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! Now what
I really—REALLY should like—
would be a little dish of honey!"
"I am afraid I have not got
any, Mr. Jackson!" said Mrs.
Tittlemouse.
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly,
Mrs. Tittlemouse!" said the
smiling Mr. Jackson, "I can SMELL it;
that is why I came to call."
Mr. Jackson rose ponderously
from the table, and began
to look into the cupboards.
Mrs. Tittlemouse followed him with
a dishcloth, to wipe his large
wet footmarks off the parlor floor.
When he had convinced himself
that there was no honey in the
cupboards, he began to walk
down the passage.
"Indeed, indeed, you will stick
fast, Mr. Jackson!"
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs.
Tittlemouse!"
First he squeezed into the pantry.
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly? No
honey? No honey, Mrs. Tittlemouse?"
There were three creepy-crawly
people hiding in the plate rack.
Two of them got away; but the
littlest one he caught.
Then he squeezed into the larder.
Miss Butterfly was tasting the
sugar; but she flew away out of
the window.
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs.
Tittlemouse; you seem to have
plenty of visitors!"
"And without any invitation!"
said Mrs. Thomasina Tittlemouse.
They went along the sandy
passage—"Tiddly, widdly—" "Buzz!
Wizz! Wizz!"
He met Babbitty round a corner,
and snapped her up, and put
her down again.
"I do not like bumble bees. They
are all over bristles," said Mr.
Jackson, wiping his mouth with
his coat sleeve.
"Get out, you nasty old toad!" shrieked Babbitty Bumble.
"I shall go distracted!" scolded Mrs. Tittlemouse.
She shut herself up in the nut
cellar while Mr. Jackson pulled out
the bees-nest. He seemed to have
no objection to stings.
When Mrs. Tittlemouse ventured
to come out—everybody
had gone away.
But the untidiness was something
dreadful—"Never did I see
such a mess—smears of honey;
and moss, and thistledown—and
marks of big and little dirty feet—
all over my nice clean house!"
She gathered up the moss
and the remains of the bees-
wax.
Then she went out and
fetched some twigs, to partly
close up the front door.
"I will make it too small for
Mr. Jackson!"
She fetched soft soap, and
flannel, and a new scrubbing
brush from the storeroom.
But she was too tired to do any
more. First she fell asleep in
her chair, and then she went
to bed.
"Will it ever be tidy again?"
said poor Mrs. Tittlemouse.
Next morning she got up
very early and began a spring
cleaning which lasted a fort-
night.
She swept, and scrubbed,
and dusted; and she rubbed
up the furniture with bees-
wax, and polished her little tin
spoons.
When it was all beautifully
neat and clean, she gave a
party to five other little mice,
without Mr. Jackson.
He smelt the party and
came up the bank, but he
could not squeeze in at the
door.
So they handed him out acorn cupfuls of
honeydew through the window,
and he was not at all offended.
He sat outside in the sun, and said—
"Tiddly, widdly, widdly! Your very
good health, Mrs. Tittlemouse!"