From the pantry came Silver Ears Graymouse and Dot Squeaky, bringing food
to the table.
"I hope Limpy-toes Graymouse and Scamper Squeaky have not gone away,"
thought Nimble-toes.
Somebody stole softly up behind him; two paws blindfolded his eyes.
"It is Limpy-toes," he guessed, trying to be brave in that dark, strange
place.
"Right you are, Nimble-toes," laughed Limpy-toes. "Scamper and I have been
over to the store to get some cheese. I thought you were a burglar, just
at first. Push open the door and trot in."
"It is Cousin Nimble-toes!" cried a noisy chorus of little mice.
"It is Nimble-toes Field-Mouse, sure as I'm a mouse!" declared Uncle
Squeaky. "Welcome to our attic, my lad."
[Illustration: Somebody stole softly up behind him, two paws blindfolded
his eyes.]
"You must be hungry after your long tramp, Nimble-toes," said Mother
Graymouse. "Supper is all ready."
The little mice crowded around their cousin from the Pond Lily Lake
country. They all talked at once, squealing excitedly and asking all sorts
of questions, until poor Nimble-toes was bewildered.
At last he climbed upon a little red stool and shouted in Uncle Squeaky's
ear:
"I've a message for Grand-daddy Whiskers.
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