The woodmouse stopped and turned round, and greeted the two friends cordially.
"I haven't seen you for an age!" he said. "Coon, I supposed you had been asleep for a couple of months, at least. How does it happen that you are prowling about at this season?"
Coon briefly explained the state of the case, and then added:—
"I am specially glad to meet you, Woodmouse, for I want to consult you about something. There are some mice in the cellar of the cottage,—brown mice. Very troublesome, thieving creatures they are, and we want to get rid of them. Now, I suppose they are relatives of yours, eh?"
"Ahem! well—yes," the woodmouse admitted reluctantly. "Distant, you know, quite distant; but—a—yes, they are relatives. A wretched, disreputable set, I have heard, though I never met any of them."
"You have heard quite correctly!" said the raccoon, warmly. "They are a great annoyance to the Madam, and to all of us. They almost take the food out of our mouths; they destroy things in the cellar, and—and in fact, we want to get rid of them."
The woodmouse stared at him in amazement. "Really, Mr. Coon," he said, laughing, "I should not have supposed, from my past acquaintance with you, that you would have any difficulty in getting rid of them."
Raccoons cannot blush, or our Coon certainly would have done so. He rubbed his nose helplessly, somewhat after the fashion of Bruin, and cast a half-comical, half-rueful glance at Toto. Finally he replied,—
"Well, you see, Woodmouse, things are rather different from usual this winter. The fact is, our Madam has a strong objection to—a—in point of fact, to slaughter; and she made it a condition of our coming to spend the winter with her, that we should not kill other creatures unless it were necessary. So I thought if we could get rid of those mice in any other way, it would please her. I suppose there is plenty of room in the forest for another family of mice?"