we don't find any fairy," said Wee; and,
opening the drawer, she turned over the things till she came to a pair
of old velvet shoes; and there in the toe of one, nicely cuddled under a
bit of flannel, lay four pink mites, which woke up, and stretched their
tiny legs, and squeaked such small squeaks one could hardly hear them.

"How cunning they are! I wish they would let me put them with the kits,
and have a nursery full of babies. Wouldn't it be nice to see them all
grow up?" said Daisy.

"I'm afraid they wouldn't grow up, if Mrs. Purr lived with them," began
Wee, but got no further; for just then the cat bounced into the drawer,
and ate up the mouselings in four mouthfuls. Daisy screamed; the
mother-mouse gave a doleful squeak, and ran into a hole; and Aunt Wee
tried to save the little ones. But it was too late: Purr had got her
breakfast, and sat washing her face after it, as if she had enjoyed it.

"Never mind, Daisy: she would have caught them by and by, and it's as
well to have them taken care of before they do any harm. There is the
bell: don't cry, but come and tell papa what a fine romp we've had."

"It doesn't rain, but it's dreadfully wet; so we'll go to the dairy, and
see if any sprites are hiding there," said Wee next day; and to the
dairy they went.

A pleasant place it was,--so clean and cool, and as full of sweet odors
as if the ghosts of buttercups and clover still haunted the milk which
they had helped to make. Dolly was churning, and Polly was making up
butter in nice little pats. Both were very kind, and let Daisy peep
everywhere. All round on white shelves stood the shining pans, full of
milk; the stone floor was wet; and a stream of water ran along a narrow
bed through the room, and in it stood jars of butter, pots of cream, and
cans of milk. The window was open, and hop-vines shook their green bells
before it. The birds sang outside, and maids sang inside, as the churn
and the wooden spatters kept time:

"Brindle and Bess,
White-star and Jess--
Come, butter, come!
Eat cowslips fine,
Red columbine--
Come, butter, come!
Grasses green and tall,
Clover, best of all,--
Come, butter, come!
And give every night
Milk sweet and white--
Come, butter, come!
Make the churn go,
See the lumps grow!--
Come, butter, come!"

Daisy sang also, and turned the handle till she was tired; then she
helped Polly with the butter, and made