"Are farmers always so happy?" asked Puss when the man stopped singing.
The farmer smiled and said: "My good sir, when one is blessed with a fine wife and a good farm he can beat a canary-bird at singing."
"You don't say so!" said Puss, Jr. "But suppose one has neither, what should such an unlucky one do?"
"Don't ask me," said the farmer, setting to work again. "I'm a simple man, and what is happiness for me might not be for another."
As he swung his scythe back and forth the tall grass fell in graceful rows and the sweet scent of the new-mown hay was everywhere. Suddenly Puss saw a field-mouse scampering over the ground. This was too much for Puss. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, and he had not had a mouse to eat for so long that he had almost forgotten how mice tasted. Jumping down from his good gray horse, he gave chase.
"Go it, Sir Cat!" cried the farmer. "Don't lose him."
Puss needed no words of encouragement. He longed for a good run, and his mouth fairly watered at the idea of a nice fat little mouse for lunch. But the field-mouse saw him coming and wasted no time. Away he went, hopping over the grass and looking wildly about for a place in which to hide. A trunk of a fallen tree at no great distance attracted his attention, and with a final burst of speed he reached it and crawled into a hole before Puss had the opportunity to seize him by the tail.
"Oh, pshaw!" cried Puss, sitting down on the log. "I surely thought I had him."
"You did, eh?" squeaked the little mouse, peering out of his hole and laughing at poor Puss. "I prefer to be inside this log rather than inside even so famous a character as Puss in Boots, Junior."
"How do you know my name?" asked Puss, surprised at what he heard.