“The Summer passed happily away, but the sudden death of poor Silket, once more filled them with grief. The innocent little creature was sleeping under the nut-trees in the garden, one warm morning in September; he had been collecting nuts to carry home, but being tired, he laid down to repose himself in the sun, and unfortunately fell asleep, nor did he wake till he found himself in the grasp of the merciless black cat, who springing upon her defenceless prey, strangled him in an instant. There was no fond Downy near, nor affectionate Velvet, to receive his last sighs, nor give him aid. The evening came, but no Silket returned to the disconsolate Downy; another day passed, but they saw nothing of Silket, and they were at last certain that he must have been killed. This heavy blow almost overcame Downy, and it was with the greatest difficulty, Velvet could persuade her to eat and be comforted; but every thing around them served to recall the image, and remind them of the loss, of their beloved Silket, and this gave them both great pain. At last, Velvet, without saying any thing to her mother, stole away while she was asleep, and having found a pretty spot, some way from farmer Ball’s land, she made a new house, much more convenient than the one they then lived in; it was a long time before it was completed, but when it was quite finished, and well stocked with grain, she brought Downy to see it: it was situated in a pretty garden, on a beautiful sloping green bank, under the shade of a fir tree, not many yards from a nice white brick house, the front of which was covered with vines and wall-fruit; there were pots of balsams and geraniums, placed on the beds opposite the windows and glass door.”
“Why, mamma, (exclaimed Alfred, suddenly looking up in his mother’s face,) that was just like our garden, and our house.” and he ran to the window, and looked out into the garden, saying with great vivacity, “Yes, mamma, it is the same; it is our garden with the fir-tree and the bank, and all the flowers, exactly the same!” And he turned an inquiring eye unto his mother.
Mrs. Clifford smiled, but made no reply to his exclamations of surprise, and went on as if she had not heard him. “In this quiet pretty spot they settled themselves, and Downy hoped to spend the rest of her days in quiet; she wanted for nothing, for Velvet provided for all her wants. Downy thought, if she should ever be deprived of her, it would break her heart, and she must soon be starved to death, as she could not work now, as she had done formerly. These thoughts made her often very sorrowful, and Velvet thought she seemed to droop, and lose her spirits and appetite, so Velvet thought to get something nice to please her; she stole into the house one day, when nobody saw her, and after some little time, she found her way into the cupboard, where she smelt something very nice, and beheld a new plum-cake. ‘Ah!’ said she, ‘how my sick mother will like a bit of this cake!’ so having made a hearty meal herself off it, she carried away the rest for her mother, not thinking she had done any harm.”
“Ah, mamma, (cried Alfred with tears in his eyes,) how I wish I had not set the trap to catch that good Velvet; she might have had my cake, and welcome, if I had but known what she took it for, how sorry I am! I wish Velvet was alive again, with all my heart.”
“Did not I tell you, Alfred, you would be sorry for killing the nasty brown mouse, before the day was over.”
“Oh! yes, dear mamma, and so I am indeed; I wish you had told me the story before, and then I should not have set the trap.—And so I suppose poor Downy will die, because she has no one to feed her.”
“Well, Alfred, shall I finish my story?
“Yes, if you please, mamma, but you don’t know any more of it, do you?” “Only this, when Downy found Velvet did not return, she died of grief. Thus ended the Life and Adventures of The Field-mouse.”
“Ah, mamma,” cried Alfred, bursting into tears, “what a cruel boy I have been! I have killed both Downy and Velvet—I will never be so cruel again.”