Well, I am glad the twinnies aren't killed."
"They ought to be walloped," growled Scamper. "It's a shame, Limpy-toes,
that's what it is!"
It was many weeks before Wink and Wiggle were able to leave their
pine-needle beds. Silvy, in her pretty nurse's cap and apron, was kept
busy waiting upon her mischievous cousins.
Debby Field-Mouse often ran over from her cottage, which she had named the
Cosy Retreat, bringing dainties for the poor bruised twinnies to eat.
Poor Granny Whiskers' nerves were badly shaken.
"Ah, Zenas," she moaned, "take us to our dear attic home before some one
is killed. You promised me that we should all go home safe and sound, and
there lay those precious twinnies, all bandages and plasters. Ah, dearie
me! What will happen next? Poor Debbie's house was burned; Wink and Wiggle
are all smashed up. Zenas Whiskers, I say we must pack up and go home
tomorrow."
"Ah, Granny," grinned Grand-daddy, "Wink and Wiggle are perfectly safe,
but I can't truthfully call 'em sound just yet. I must dose 'em awhile
before they will be sound enough to go back to the attic. Pine breezes,
fresh air and sunshine, Granny, that's what they need.
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