As I watched there was a swift movement in a
tunnel among the roots, and the mother-mouse came rushing back.
She paused a moment, lifting her forepaws against a root to sniff
what danger threatened. Then she saw my face bending over the
opening--Et tu Brute! and she darted into the nest. In a moment
she was out again and disappeared into her tunnel, running
swiftly with her little ones hanging to her sides by a grip that
could not be shaken,--all but one, a delicate pink creature that
one could hide in a thimble, and that snuggled down in the
darkest corner of my hand confidently.
It was ten minutes before the little mother came back, looking
anxiously for the lost baby. When she found him safe in his own
nest, with the man's face still watching, she was half reassured;
but when she threw herself down and the little one began to
drink, she grew fearful again and ran away into the tunnel, the
little one clinging to her side, this time securely.
I put the stone back and gathered the moss carefully about it. In
a few days Mother Mouse was again at my table. I stole away to
the stone, put my ear close to it, and heard with immense
satisfaction tiny squeaks, which told me that the house was again
occupied.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32