"T—r—a—p, trap," went on Mother Graymouse.
"T—r—a—p, trap," echoed her scholars.
"C—a—t, cat," she continued firmly.
"C—a—t, cat," shrilled all five.
"P—o—i—s—o—n, poison; that is the last word."
"P—o—i—s—o—n, poison," finished the tired little scholars with a sigh.
"Very good," smiled Mother Graymouse. "Very good, indeed! School is dismissed. You may run out and play."
Buster waved his paw high.
"Please, Mammy, I've made a new song. May I sing it now?"
"We shall all be delighted. Hush, hush, Squealer, while your clever brother sings to us."