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Five Mice in a Mouse-trap by the Man in the Moon

<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> <h3>A PICNIC.</h3> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs065.png" width-obs="450" height-obs="314" alt="Man sitting on the ground" title="" /></div> One bright morning, at about eleven o'clock, I tipped my glass in the direction of the Mouse-trap. It had been tipped in a very different direction, for I had been watching a buffalo-hunt on the prairies. That is an exciting sport, and one that I should like to join in, if I were a few thousand years younger. Here at the Mouse-trap,[124] however, there was an excitement of quite another sort. All the five mice were hurrying about, evidently very busy. The carriage stood at the door, and Uncle Jack was packing all sorts of things into it. Nibble brought one big basket, and Puff brought another, and both were stowed away under the seat. Brighteyes came down the steps very carefully carrying something in a pitcher, with a napkin tied over the top, and that too was stowed away. As for Fluff and Downy, they were running round and round the house as fast as they could, shouting: "Picnic! picnic! going to a picnic! oh! Jollykaloo! Jollykaloo!" <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs066.png" width-obs="300" height-obs="299" alt="Running to get ready" title="" /></div> "Aha!" I said to my dog, "the mice are going to have a picnic. Let us watch now, and see where they go: and then we shall have all the fun of it, and none of the trouble." So we watched, and saw them all get into the carriage except Nibble, who stood on the steps with his hands in his pockets, evidently waiting for something. The something soon proved to be <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins>, the brown donkey, whom Thomas now led up the path, looking very gay with his Mexican saddle and scarlet tassels. Nibble mounted him nimbly, and took the reins and the whip. "Thank you, Tomty!" he said. "And good-bye! I wish you were going to the picnic,[125] Tomty!" "Thank you kindly, sir!" replied Tomty. "The hens and me will be having a picnic in the barn-yard, Master Nibble, I'm thinking." "Now, Uncle Jack, I am ready!" cried the young horseman. "I will lead the way, and you can follow!" "Thank you!" said Uncle Jack, who was holding in the spirited horses with some difficulty, "you are extremely kind, I am sure!" "Get up, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins>!" cried Nibble, "Hi! go on, sir!" But <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins> was not inclined to go on. He shook his head, and pointed his long ears backward and forward, but not a step would he stir, for entreaties, threats, or blows. Then Tomty slyly took a sharp-pointed stake, and poked Master <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins> from behind. Ah, that was another matter! up went his heels in the air, and off he went at full gallop, while all the occupants of the carriage shouted with laughter, as they saw donkey and rider dash along the avenue, and finally vanish in a cloud of dust. "Come, Pollux! come, Castor!" said Uncle Jack, "it would never do for the donkey to get to the Glen before us." Castor and Pollux thought so too, for they tossed their heads, and quickened their pace to a fast trot, though they were far too well behaved to think of breaking into a gallop. <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs067.png" width-obs="314" height-obs="300" alt="Looking at flowers" title="" /></div> "Oh! isn't it nice to go so fastly?" exclaimed Fluffy, giving Downy a hug. "Just like queens in their chariots. See those two little tiny children, Downy! They are smaller as you, and perhaps they think we are queens, only we haven't any crowns; but we might have left our crowns at home for fear of robbers." "Yef, wobbers!" said Downy, with a knowing nod.[126] "No I don't think we will be queens," said Brighteyes. "Let us be wild beasts in a caravan, going to the menagerie, and then we can sing the menagerie song." "Oh! yes! yes!" cried all the others. And then they sang the following song, each singing a verse in turn, and then imitating the voice of the creature she represented while the other verses were sung. It was a lively game, you may believe. <div class='poem'> The Tiger is a terrible beast! He lives in jungles of the East, On bad little boys he loves to feast: Oh! fiddledy, diddledy, dido! The Lion he doth rage and roar; And when he hits you with his paw, You never are troubled with nothing no more, Oh! fiddledy, diddledy, dido! The Buffalo doth proudly prance, Whenever the hunters will give him a chance, And over the prairies he leads them a dance, Oh! fiddledy, diddledy, dido! The Crocodile doth open his jaws, Like great big ugly tusky doors, And gobbles you up without a pause, Oh! fiddledy, diddledy, dido! </div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs068.png" width-obs="407" height-obs="500" alt=""THEY STOOD LOOKING AT THE MICE."" title="" /> "THEY STOOD LOOKING AT THE MICE."</div> [129] By the time the last verse was finished the four mice were howling and roaring in a manner frightful to hear, and Uncle Jack's patience finally gave way. "Children," he said, turning round, "I cannot possibly endure this. Be quiet at once, or I will drive you to the Lunatic Asylum and leave you there! See, the people are all coming out of their houses to stare at you!" So indeed they were, and one little girl, who stood with her mother at a cottage gate, staring with might and main, cried: "Them's all mad, be'nt them, mother?" "No, little girl!" said Puff, with great dignity. "We are wild beasts going to a menagerie!" And the carriage whirled away leaving the child not much the wiser. Now they turned into a lovely wood road, when the trees bent down over the carriage, and whispered in the mice's ears. But the mice did not understand, as usual; they only rubbed their ears and said the leaves tickled them. Uncle Jack stopped the horses, and told the mice to tumble out, which they did speedily. <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs069.png" width-obs="224" height-obs="350" alt="Primrose" title="" /></div> One took a basket, and another a bottle, and all went trotting down the mossy path that led to the lovely glen, while Uncle Jack stayed to unharness the horses, and then followed with the[130] "biggy-wiggy basket," as Downy called it. Indeed, it was a pretty sight to see those little creatures, playing about like so many fairies in that lovely green place. You should have seen the little flower-spirits start up to look at them, as they frisked about among the trees. Little Primrose threw kisses to them, and Violet offered them a dew-drop in her deepest purple cup; but the merry mice thought nothing of the flower spirits and neither saw nor heard them. "Oh! the brook! the lovely brook!" cried Brighteyes. "We must take off our shoes and stockings and wade in it. Mayn't we, Uncle Jack?" Uncle Jack nodded, and off went four pairs of shoes, and four pairs of scarlet stockings. Oh? the little white feet! how pretty they looked, shining through the clear water, that looked so brown in the still pools, and sparkled so white over the rocks and the tiny rapids. <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs070.png" width-obs="308" height-obs="350" alt="Violet" title="" /></div> That was fine sport, certainly. Fluff fell in, of course, but nobody seemed to mind it much, and Fluff herself least of all, for it was a very warm day, and Mrs. <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Possett'">Posset</ins> was not there to lament the "ruination" of her white frock. Suddenly Brighteyes exclaimed: "But where is Nibble?" Sure enough, where was that famous horseman? nobody had seen him[131] since he had galloped away up the avenue. "Oh, dear!" sighed Fluff, "perhaps he played wild beast, and somebody took him and put him in the Lunatic Asylum! Do you think anybody did, Uncle Jack?" "I don't think he would be likely to play wild beast all alone. My fear is that <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins> may have been playing, and——but see!" he added, looking back towards the path by which they had entered the glen, "here comes the young man himself, so now we shall know all about it." Nibble came down the path slowly, looking very serious. His clothes were covered with dust, his hat was battered out of all shape, and he carried his whip under his arm, instead of snapping it gayly as he had done when he started. <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins> was not to be seen. "Well, Nibble, my boy, what has happened?" asked Uncle Jack, cheerily. "Has <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins> been rolling with you again?" "Yes, Uncle!" answered Nibble, as he drew near, and threw himself on the mossy bank where his uncle was seated, "he is the worst donkey I ever saw! he wanted some thistles in the hedge, and I wouldn't let him eat them, of course. So then he kicked and reared, but he couldn't get me off that way, and I whipped him a good bit. But then he lay down and rolled, and then I couldn't stay on you see!" "I see!" said Uncle Jack. "You were certainly justified in getting off. And then <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Jose'">José</ins> went home, I suppose?" "Well, yes, I suppose he did," said Nibble, reluctantly, "and I have walked a long way, Uncle, and I want my dinner." "Bless me!" cried Uncle Jack, "dinner already? Well, come out of the water, you little Nixies, and let us see about our grand feast!"[132] Patter, patter, came all the little white feet, over the mossy stones, and over the green turf, and I could not tell whether they looked prettier in the water or out of it. There was a rush for the baskets, and their contents were tumbled out pell-mell on the grass. Forks, spoons, tarts, sandwiches, lemons, followed each other in rapid succession. <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs071.png" width-obs="349" height-obs="350" alt="Gathering flowers" title="" /></div> "Now this will never do!" said Uncle Jack. "Too many cooks spoil the broth, as we know, and we must not spoil our feast. Nibble, do you go and gather brush and make a fire. Hap and Hazard shall pick some flowers to make wreaths and posies, and Brighteyes shall help me to set the table." "And what fell I do?" asked little Downy, piteously; "I muf do fomefing!" "So you shall, Downy," said Uncle Jack; "you shall chase all the butterflies away, so that they will not eat up the tarts." Now every one was happy and busy. The twinnies wandered off into the meadow near by, filling their aprons with posies, and chattering merrily, with little snatches of song mingling with their pretty talk. It was <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'pleasan'">pleasant</ins> to hear their sweet voices singing:[133] <div class='poem'> Daisy white and Daisy bright, And Daisy is my heart's delight! I'll twine you now in my true-love's hair, And tell me who is the fairest fair! Violet blue and Violet true, And Violet filled with diamond dew! I'll give you now to my true love here, And tell me who is the dearest dear! </div> Meanwhile great things were accomplished in the glen. A snowy cloth was spread on the emerald turf, and on it were arrayed all the good things, in dishes and plates, which had been lately hanging on the great sycamore-tree under which the feast was spread. "Nothing like leaves for picnic-plates!" said Uncle Jack. "Now then, Brighteyes, hand out that chicken pie! So! now for the strawberries and the sponge cake! ha! this certainly does make one hungry." Indeed it did, as I felt the pangs of hunger merely from seeing all the good things in my mirror. "Go, good dog," I said to my faithful companion, "and bring me some ice-cream from Mt. Vanilla. And dip the ladle into that syllabub cloud that is drifting by, for it will make a pleasant addition." Bmfkgth departed on his errand, and I turned again to watch the picnic. The kettle was boiling by this time over Nibble's brush fire, and he was calling for the coffee-pot, when suddenly a shrill scream was heard from the meadow, and Downy's voice cried, "Fomebody come! oh! oh! I'm killed!" Brighteyes ran to the rescue, and found the little man gazing in terror at a very innocent-looking white cow, who was quietly grazing in the meadow. He ran to his sister, and clung to her, crying, "Dat cow looked at me! I'm killed!"[134] Brighteyes took his hand and ran back laughing. "Here is a boy who has been killed by a cow's looking at him," she said, "and he wants a sandwich." <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs072.png" width-obs="450" height-obs="286" alt="Cowing looking" title="" /></div> All was ready now. The twins were called, and came back laden with flowers; Nibble came with his coffee-pot, and the grand feast began in earnest. Dear! dear! how good everything looked! chicken pie and smoked tongue and sandwiches, and chocolate custard in a pitcher, and everything else that you can think of. I never have chicken pie up here, because there are no chickens, but I think it must be very nice, and it was very evident that the mice thought so. Uncle Jack carved and helped, and everybody ate and drank and chattered merrily. My brother Sun smiled at them, and sent millions of sunbeams, twinkling and sparkling over the grass[135] and dancing on the ripples of the brook; and when they were too warm, hosts of merry Winds came flying, and fanned them and kissed them. Among them were the seven little fellows who had blown Nibble and Brighteyes to China, and they whispered, "Dear little Heavy-Ones; will you take another flying-trip with us?" but the children did not hear nor heed them, so nothing further was said. When the feast was over, there was a grand washing of spoons and forks, and a putting away of what was good and throwing away of what was bad. Then came blind-man's-buff, and hide-and-seek, and all manner of games; and then more paddling and tumbling in the brook, splashing and dashing, "for all the world like the forty little ducklings!" Uncle Jack said. "Oh! tell us about the little ducklings!" cried all the mice. And they climbed up the bank and sat down in a circle round their uncle, holding up their wet feet to dry in the sun. "About the ducklings, eh?" said Uncle Jack, "well, let me see if I can remember." <div class='poem2'> The forty little ducklings who lived up at the farm, They said unto each other, "oh! the day is very warm!" They said unto each other, "oh! the river's very cool! The duck who did not seek it now would surely be a fool!" The forty little ducklings they started down the road, And waddle, waddle, waddle, was the gait at which they goed, The same it is not grammar, you may change it if you choose! But one cannot stop for trifles when inspired by the Muse. They waddled and they waddled, and they waddled on and on, Till one remarked, "oh! deary me, where is the river gone? We asked the Ancient Gander, and he said 'twas very near, [136]He must have been deceiving us, or else himself, I fear." They waddled and they waddled, till no further they could go, Then down upon a mossy bank they sat them in a row. They took their little handkerchiefs and wept a little weep, And then they put away their heads, and then they went to sleep. There came along a farmer, with a basket on his arm, And all those little ducklings he took back to the farm, He put them in their little beds and wished them sweet repose, And fastened mustard plasters on their little webby toes. Next day those little ducklings were very, very ill, Their mother sent for Dr. Quack, who gave them each a pill, But soon as they recovered, the first thing that they did Was to peck the Ancient Gander, till he ran away and hid. </div> <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs073.png" width-obs="348" height-obs="300" alt="Duck" title="" /></div> "There!" said Uncle Jack, "weren't they funny ducklings?" "Yes!" said Puff; "is it true, Uncle?" "Part of it is," replied Uncle Jack. "It is true about the ducklings running away, and about the farmer's finding them. I know the farmer. His name is Mr. Thomas Burnham, and a very good farmer he is. But I did not see him put the mustard plasters on their feet, so I cannot tell about that." "Then tell us something else, please!" cried Brighteyes. "No! no!" said Uncle Jack; "it is six o'clock, you bad children! Once upon a time there were five little mice, and it was time for them to go home. That is the only story I can tell you now."[137] <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/gs074.png" width-obs="311" height-obs="325" alt="Holding hands" title="" /></div> Well, to be sure, it did seem a shame to go home, just when everything was so lovely. But Downy was beginning to rub his eyes as if my friend the Sand-man had been blowing into them, and the shadows were lengthening, and Brother Sun was beginning to call his beams home. So the mice bade farewell to the lovely glen, and the merry brook, and trotted up the mossy path as cheerfully, if not as quickly as they had trotted down it. Harum-scarum and flyaway my mice certainly are, but they are almost always cheerful and obedient, and that is a great thing. Primrose and Violet and the rest looked after them, and said, "God bless their merry hearts!" then they curled down under their leaves and went to sleep, for it was high time. The brook sang its sweetest good-bye song, as it hurried away toward the sea, to tell the gossipping waves what a delightful afternoon it had passed; and as if in answer to the song, I heard Puff and Fluff singing merrily, as the carriage rolled away: <div class='poem'> "Rosebud fine and Rosebud mine, And Rosebud red as the ruby wine, I'll lay you now at my true-love's feet, And tell me who is the sweetest sweet!" </div> <hr style="width: 65%;" />[138] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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