Thoroughly sobered by this adventure, the two little mice sat on the floor beside the basin, dripping and shivering, the water trickling from their long tails, their short ears, their sharp-pointed noses. They blinked sadly at each other with their bright black eyes.
"Shall we go home now, Scrabble?" said Squeak. "It is late, and Mother Mouse will be looking for us."
"I'm so c-c-c-cold!" shivered Scrabble, who a moment before had been devoured by burning heat. "Don't you think we might dry ourselves before that fire before we go down?"
"Yes!" replied Squeak, "we will. But—what is that great black thing in front of the fire?"
"A hill, of course!" said the other. "A black hill, I should say. Shall we climb over it, or go round it?"
"Oh, let us climb over it!" said Squeak. "The exercise will help to warm us; and it is such a queer-looking hill, I want to explore it."
So they began to climb up the vast black mass, which occupied the whole space in front of the fireplace.
"How soft the ground is! and it is warm, too!"
"Because it is near the fire, stupid!"