He never thought of saying, “Poor Tommy Peele!” But Tommy was the right one to feel sorry for. Satin-skin had closed her little needle teeth on his finger. And before Nibble had taken a long breath he heard a voice squeaking, “Weeak! weeak! weeak!” which is mouse for, “I’m lost! Where are you?”
“Here!” he thumped with both hind feet. And who should come scuttling in but Satin-skin herself? He could feel her tremble all over as she tried to squirm right under him.
“My ears!” Nibble exclaimed. “I thought that Man had caught you!”
“No, I caught him!” wept the little lady mouse. “But he shook me so hard I was scared to let go again. And when I did, he sent me tail over ears. I tell you, it was awful! wee-eeak!”
“Shh! he’ll hear you,” Nibble warned. “There, your head will stop whirling pretty soon.” He knew just how she felt, ’cause he’d felt the same way himself—the time he tumbled off the back of that Red Cow he took for a log when Silvertip was chasing him.
But Tommy wasn’t even thinking about Satin-skin, let alone listening for her. He stamped his tall rubber boots and sucked his poor nipped finger. “Funniest thing!” he wondered to himself. “I just know there was a rabbit in that trap. I saw him go in there. I don’t guess it’s very much good. I’ll try the pitcher-wire.”
Nibble squirmed and flounced like a fish on the end of a line.
So he pulled on his red mitten and tramped off to the path in the bushes by the fence he’d seen Nibble slip through. This time he bent down a springy sapling and tied a loop of wire to the tip of it—the soft kind you use to hang pictures. And he pegged the lower edge of the loop across Nibble’s pathway.