I took pains, after this, to scatter desirable food and clothing for mother and children along Tom-Tom’s ghostly trail. The next day these were always missing, and Tom-Tom seemed grateful in his dumb way, though he presumed too far upon my sympathies and took to petty larceny.
For instance, I had a little black box, with a hinged cover, upon my table. I kept in it pens, postage stamps, and other small implements of the writer’s craft. One day I found my pens neatly piled upon my table and the stamps blowing about the cabin. Upon searching for the box, I found it, carefully placed at the foot of a tree, and freshly filled with catnip. Upon the cover were scratched these words: “Magdalene Tom-Tom, from her devoted Cat-band.” I inferred from this that the tortoise-shell egg had hatched and that the seven youngsters were all lively. I meditated reclaiming my property, but after thinking it over, concluded to let the incident pass without comment. It might be in celebration of some sentimental anniversary, and Tom-Tom’s peace of mind might be at stake; but I took the precaution to lock up everything else which I wished to keep.
Upon the shelf in the cabin was a cigar box where Little Upsidaisi slept. I had made a very soft nest for him with some returned manuscripts, and endeavoured to keep food and drink in one corner of it. Thus, at any hour of the day or night, he might be safe from the Cat and well provided for.
After a little, as the trying duties of paternity relaxed, Tom-Tom, thin and pale as he was, took to spending a part of his evenings at home, and I trembled lest his acute senses should lead him to the cigar box. It was tightly closed, except for the little opening gnawed just below the cover, which made sort of a slot for Little Upsidaisi’s tail and kept it from being pinched when he got into the box.
Still, things went on smoothly, and Tom-Tom claimed his old place in my affections, ignorant of the fact that his rival slept in the cigar box above. There was a period of three days, once, when Tom-Tom did not leave the cabin, and I did not go out either, as I thought it safer to remain. There was no telling what might happen in my absence.
At the end of the third day, I sat at my little table, recording various valuable observations in my ledger, when suddenly a terrible thought struck me. I had forgotten to feed Little Upsidaisi!
I dared not make any attempt at it while Tom-Tom was watching me, and though I tried more than once, I could not decoy him out of the cabin. I wondered what had become of my little pet, and feared to find him stretched out stark and stiff upon the returned manuscripts. My heart reproached me bitterly.
Strangely enough, I was recording in my journal at that instant the fact that the Field Mice seemed to have no method of communication with the outside world, except the picture language made with the sharpened tip of the tail. While I was considering what to do, and whether or not to use force and temporarily eject Tom-Tom, a faint, far-away tapping assailed my ears, which my anxious mind soon traced to the cigar box upon the shelf.
At the succession of taps, my hair stood up in astonishment and I rose to my feet with such violence that Tom-Tom was frightened. Little Upsidaisi was attempting to communicate with me by means of the Morse code!
I am well aware that this will not be believed by the reader, but I can only set down my own observations and trust to later explorations to substantiate my claims.