Somebody stole softly up behind him; two paws blindfolded his eyes.
"It is Limpy-toes," he guessed, trying to be brave in that dark, strange place.
"Right you are, Nimble-toes," laughed Limpy-toes. "Scamper and I have been over to the store to get some cheese. I thought you were a burglar, just at first. Push open the door and trot in."
"It is Cousin Nimble-toes!" cried a noisy chorus of little mice.
"It is Nimble-toes Field-Mouse, sure as I'm a mouse!" declared Uncle Squeaky. "Welcome to our attic, my lad."
"You must be hungry after your long tramp, Nimble-toes," said Mother Graymouse. "Supper is all ready."
The little mice crowded around their cousin from the Pond Lily Lake country. They all talked at once, squealing excitedly and asking all sorts of questions, until poor Nimble-toes was bewildered.
At last he climbed upon a little red stool and shouted in Uncle Squeaky's ear:
"I've a message for Grand-daddy Whiskers. Please make 'em be still a minute, Uncle Hezekiah."