Please make 'em be still a
minute, Uncle Hezekiah."
Uncle Squeaky rapped smartly upon the floor with his cane. At once there
was silence.
"Fetch your little stools and sit down to supper, every last mouse of
you!" he commanded. "Let your victuals fill your mouths and stop your
noise. Nimble-toes has brought a word for Grand-daddy."
In a twinkling they were all seated around the long table. Nimble-toes sat
beside Grand-daddy, so he could talk with him easily, for Grand-daddy's
left ear had been torn in a trap and he was somewhat deaf.
"Now we are as still as mice," chuckled Grand-daddy. "Speak out,
Nimble-toes."
"I have a message from our woodfolk, Grand-daddy," began Nimble-toes. "No
one could write a letter, so they told me what to say. I've said it
forty-'leven times, lest I forget. The message is from Pa Field-Mouse,
Squire Cricket, Sir Spider, Daddy Grasshopper, Mr. Hop Toad, and Mr. Jack
Rabbit. They bade me say this:
"Dr. Grand-daddy Whiskers--
"We woodfolk are sometimes sick; we need a doctor. We wish our children to
have a teacher. They must learn to read and write. Our wives must learn to
cook and sew.
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