“Dried Stalks and Wormy Acorns!” exploded the doctor. “You won’t, won’t you? Well, you’re a long way from being popular with all the mice who’ve been sick to-night over this foolish way you made war on Stripes Skunk. How will they fancy having the Woods and Fields make war on the mice? Eh? And we’ll do it, too!” Doctor Muskrat showed his long teeth, but he wasn’t smiling.
Tad Coon chased a couple of mice into a corn-crib
“Don’t do that,” whimpered the stubborn old fellow. “It won’t do any good. Tad Coon chased a couple of mice into a corn-crib. While he was scuffing around to catch one a man ran out and closed the door on him. The other mouse got away and told us about it the night of the meeting. That’s truly all I know.”
“When? Where? What corn-crib?” asked the doctor. “Where’s that mouse?”
“I know you won’t believe me,” sniffled old Grandfather Fieldmouse, bursting into tears, “but he really and truly was eaten up by the little owls.”
At this awful news Nibble Rabbit’s face grew ’most as long as his loppy long ears. And Doctor Muskrat’s whiskers drooped. Poor, poor Tad. His tricks had got him into trouble once too often. But they’d forgotten about Tad Coon’s luck. That’s never much farther behind him than the end of his bushy tail. So don’t you lose any sleep over what happened to Tad till I get the story of all his adventures, in prison and out again, into a book fat enough to hold them.
THE END