So the Day-Before-Christmas found every little eye carrying a look of worry and every little voice sobbed: “We can do but little for this Christmas, and that only for the very poor,” all but old Mr. Long-Tail. His eyes held no look of worry. He was in a class by himself, for, as sometimes happens, not any of his storehouses were buried and every snowflake that fell before his door seemed to be instantly whisked away by the North Wind.
And so he sat before his fire and drank his broth and wheezed in his most disagreeable voice: “Christmas! Bah! I’ll have none of it!”
For to explain: Old Mr. Long-Tail was a rat, and a very miserly one at that. In fact, he traced his pedigree directly back to the great family of Miser Rats, who had a habit of gathering hoards of curious things and tucking them away in funny little storehouses where one could find everything from an old button to a bit of brightly colored glass, along with queer dried roots and vegetables. Old Mr. Long-Tail had lived a long time and, as he had likewise inherited the family traits, his storehouses were many.
So he sat all alone the Day-Before-Christmas, buried in his great armchair, and thought only of how very comfortable he was—he, the very richest creature in the great forest. But old Mr. Long-Tail was not happy, for with all his great riches there was one thing more he longed for—that was a certain kind of yellow corn, and that corn was hidden away in a certain corn bin in a certain old barn a goodly distance away.
“Ah! If I only had a little of that fine corn for my Christmas dinner,” sighed old Mr. Long-Tail, for secretly he did intend to celebrate Christmas Day, but all by himself.
Finally he went to the window and peered out. “Whew! It’s a pretty rough day, but I believe I might make it,” he exclaimed as he drew on his big coat and wound his woolen scarf about his neck. Then he threw an empty sack over his shoulder and, buckling on a pair of snowshoes, headed straight for that distant barn.
Reaching it after a very long and difficult trip, he removed his snowshoes and crawled under the old building until he came to a convenient crack in the floor, and raising himself carefully he crept noiselessly within. Everything was silent and deserted except for the groaning of the wind about the eaves. Mr. Long-Tail lost no time in getting across the floor to a large wooden bin beside the wall, and he sped quickly along its side until he came to an opening, and then, with a hurried look over his shoulder, he stepped inside—not inside the bin, but right into a large box trap, the cover of which dropped with a thunderous clap, and old Mr. Long-Tail found himself a prisoner.
It was all so sudden and unexpected that it quite took his breath away. He tried to find a way of escape, but there was no escape for old Mr. Long-Tail. Exhausted, he crouched down and moaned, “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I’m caught! I’m caught!” and his falling tears went splash as they fell on the floor of his prison.
Yes, he was caught, and caught so well that unless something unforeseen happened he was doomed to spend his Christmas Day in that box trap. Poor old Mr. Long-Tail, who had planned to celebrate all alone with a delicious feast!
One hour passed; then another; then many more followed, and Mr. Long-Tail commenced to feel cold and hungry—yes, hungry right in that terrible trap in that well-filled corn bin. He shivered and shivered until the old box trap fairly made the corn rattle.