Presently something like the head of a great snake was stretched out from under her seat. Minnie sprang up at once, and, climbing into the primrose branches, wondered if she were awake or asleep, that such strange things should happen.
Then the snake's head disappeared, and a low voice spoke from under the stone, "Why do you leave me? I live in a pleasanter place than the mouse, and am myself more honest and agreeable. Will not the little woman make me a visit?"
"Why, what's your name, and where did you come from? and are you a stone, or something alive? and is that snake's head a part of you?" said Minnie, half frightened, and half amused.
"What you are so polite as to call a snake's head is my own, and what you call a stone is my shell, and I am a turtle, Miss Minnie," the voice answered, with dignity.
"Pray, don't be angry with me, turtle; I meant no harm. Now the moonlight has come, I can see the beautiful golden stars on your back; and, now my fright is over, I remember what a pleasant ride you took me through the grass."
"You shall have as many such rides as you want, if only you'll come and stay with me by the side of the brook."
Here was the very opportunity Minnie had wished, to find a safer home; but she could not forget her promise to the mouse, and leave the little ones to suffer.
When she told turtle this, he said that she was perfectly right, and, creeping back with his load to the entrance of the nest, and finding the mouse was still away, he left Minnie, promising that by sunrise in the morning he would return for her.
Accustomed as she had long been to the shelter of the elm-leaves, the dampness rising from the ground made Minnie sneeze so violently that the crickets stopped playing to listen. She was glad to go, at last, inside of the nest, and sleep in one of the close little rubbish-rooms.
At daylight she was awakened by a small brown beetle running up and down her arm. Rubbing her eyes, she asked, rather sharply, why he could not let her sleep in peace.