"And Wink and Wiggle," added the twins.
"Prob'ly Granny will make us some ginger cookies," drawled Buster.
"But oh, Mammy, what hard work it will be to move!"
"It will, indeed," agreed Mother Graymouse, "so I think, Buster, that you may as well start right now to help me pack. There's my rocking chair, Squealer's cradle and high-chair, all your little beds and stools, besides my dishes,—it makes me weary just to think of it."
"We must not forget our needles and thread," said Silver Ears. "I mean to rummage in these trunks and get a whole lot of stuff for dresses and bonnets and patchwork. And our shopping bag—we must not forget that."
Each night as it grew dusky, a busy little procession marched to the barn, laden with their household goods. It took a long time, for they meant to stock up as heavily as possible for the coming winter.
But at last, Granny wrapped herself in her plaid shawl, slipped a bottle of castor oil and another of vinegar into her skirt pocket, and said good-by to her pantry home. Uncle Squeaky, with his precious fiddle tucked under his arm, joined her and Grand-daddy. Then followed Mother Graymouse and her little brood, with Aunt Squeaky and the cousins.
But the next week was Thanksgiving. Granny, Mammy and Aunt Squeaky were good cooks and they forgot their sadness in their preparations to celebrate the holiday. And so it was a jolly, thankful party which sat down to the feast at Grand-daddy Whisker's long table which was laden with good things for their Thanksgiving dinner.
[Illustration: A busy little procession marched to the barn.]