“Little Miss Mousie,” replied the tiny voice. “I crept out of my house and up the stairs to tell you to make believe you’re not at home.”
“You’re a good little friend,” answered Uncle Lucky.
“You’re a good big friend,” laughed Little Miss Mousie, only very low, of course. “You let me stay all winter in the woodbox by the warm stove. You never charge me any rent and never let me spend a cent, you give me lollypops to eat and satin slippers for my feet.”
“Do I really? I forgot all about the slippers, I declare,” cried the old gentleman rabbit, scratching his left hind ear with his right hind foot. “Maybe I’m growing old and full of forgetfulness,” and he sighed twice, and maybe three times more.
Just then the knocking came again, and this time louder than the last time, and twice as loud as the first.
“Keep your temper,” whispered the little mouse.
“I guess that’s the only thing I’ve got left,” cried poor Uncle Lucky. “I’ve lost my wits—I declare, I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t do anything,” advised the little mouse, “that’s what you agreed to do just a minute ago.”
But goodness me! as she finished speaking there arose a dreadful commotion in the backyard of Uncle Lucky’s little white house. Dear me, it was tornadeous and hurricaneous.
Please excuse me a moment. There’s so much noise I can’t even think what might happen if the Policeman Dog doesn’t arrive pretty soon and swing his club three or four times.