They clicked their thimbles to mark the time, but none of the songs pleased Simpkin; he sniffed and mewed at the door of the shop.
"And then I bought
A pipkin and a popkin,
A slipkin and a slopkin,
All for one farthing——
and upon the kitchen dresser!" added the rude little mice.
"Mew! scratch! scratch!" scuffled Simpkin on the window-sill; while the little mice inside sprang to their feet, and all began to shout at once in little twittering voices: "No more twist! No more twist!" And they barred up the window shutters and shut out Simpkin.
But still through the nicks in the shutters he could hear the click of thimbles, and little mouse voices singing—
"No more twist! No more twist!"
Simpkin came away from the shop and went home, considering in his mind. He found the poor old tailor without fever, sleeping peacefully.
Then Simpkin went on tip-toe and took a little parcel of silk out of the tea-pot, and looked at it in the moonlight; and he felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with those good little mice!