The Adventures of Diggeldy Dan

by Edwin P. Norwood

The players were led by an unusually tall mouse who seemed all the taller because of the great plush hat that he wore. This was held in place by a strap that passed under his chin. He carried a glistening stick, with a knob at one end, which he spun high overhead as he marched. Dan knew him at once; it was Bounder, who had garnered the whole head of wheat.

Thus brought into formation by Beader—their mile-high guest towering above them—the mice slowly emerged from the corn patch. Soon they had reached one of the broad, sanded paths that led into the town. Already the merry notes of the fifes and the rattle of drums heralded the procession’s approach. Small wonder, then, that windows were jammed with vast numbers of spectators and the sides of the avenue simply gray with the crowd. Many of the younger mice had climbed up the corn stalks that bordered the street, while others trailed in the rear of the drummers or kept pace with Bounder as he twirled his baton.

Beader, astride Plunger, was everywhere at once, so it seemed: First at the head of the column and then at the back of it; now along one flank and now down the other—giving this order or that in a manner that called forth much admiration. At each of the corners were important mice in blue coats who waved back the throngs as the marchers drew near and touched their helmets as Dan passed their stations.

Such were the scenes that greeted Dan’s eyes as the procession moved onward to finally arrive at the square. Big as it was, the plaza looked to be completely carpeted with mice. These were of every color and size and all smartly attired in holiday dress. On a central platform was another mouse band. Its players blew lustily on pipes and on horns that were made from parts of wheat stalks. Just in front of the bandstand—but on a different and still higher platform—stood a table and, behind the table, four chairs in a row. As for decorations—there, seemed to be no end of them. Bandstand and platform were draped with bunting, and flags and gay pennants fluttered forth on all sides.

Now, at the point where Dan had come to a halt was a wide-spreading tree whose undermost branches just tipped the top of his sugar-loaf hat. This tree shaded the greater part of the square. Looking up from the scene that lay at his feet, the clown noticed a string dangling quite near his nose. Following the length of it with a curious eye, he saw that it passed through a miniature pulley that was fixed to a branch of the tree. One half of the string ran down at a slant to be lost at a point where the Jumping Dragoons had been drawn up at attention. The other part of the string hung almost straight down until it reached the table that stood on the platform. And now Dan saw that a flag had been placed over the top of the table and that the end of the string passed under the folds of it. Even as he looked there came a stir in the crowd and another in the branches that spread near his head. Glancing up, he saw Beader spring to his shoulder and, again looking down, beheld four exceedingly dignified mice ascending the steps that led to the platform. All wore glossy silk hats, which were removed as they reached the top of the steps and then carefully placed under the four separate chairs that stood in a row near the table. Then they sat down and began mopping their brows with handkerchiefs which they drew from their pockets.

“They are our mayors,” Beader imparted, as the band struck up an entirely new air, “of Dorton, of Nightsville, of Stubbleton, and here.”

The band again silent, the most portly mouse advanced to the flag-covered table.

“Mayor Mouser, of Micetown,” whispered Beader.

“Friends and fellow mice,” began the speaker, “we are gathered here to-day to welcome to our midst one who has traveled from afar. We have—”

And standing there with his head against the branches—Beader whispering explanations of all that was not clear to him—Dan listened to this welcoming speech.