Ancient Gander, till he ran away and hid.

[Illustration]

"There!" said Uncle Jack, "weren't they funny ducklings?" "Yes!" said
Puff; "is it true, Uncle?" "Part of it is," replied Uncle Jack. "It is
true about the ducklings running away, and about the farmer's finding
them. I know the farmer. His name is Mr. Thomas Burnham, and a very good
farmer he is. But I did not see him put the mustard plasters on their
feet, so I cannot tell about that." "Then tell us something else,
please!" cried Brighteyes. "No! no!" said Uncle Jack; "it is six
o'clock, you bad children! Once upon a time there were five little mice,
and it was time for them to go home. That is the only story I can tell
you now."

[Illustration]

Well, to be sure, it did seem a shame to go home, just when everything
was so lovely. But Downy was beginning to rub his eyes as if my friend
the Sand-man had been blowing into them, and the shadows were
lengthening, and Brother Sun was beginning to call his beams home. So
the mice bade farewell to the lovely glen, and the merry brook, and
trotted up the mossy path as cheerfully, if not as quickly as they had
trotted down it. Harum-scarum and flyaway my mice certainly are, but
they are almost always cheerful and obedient, and that is a great thing.
Primrose and Violet and the rest looked after them, and said, "God bless
their merry hearts!" then they curled down under their leaves and went
to sleep, for it was high time. The brook sang its sweetest good-bye
song, as it hurried away toward the sea, to tell the gossipping waves
what a delightful afternoon it had passed; and as if in answer to the
song, I heard Puff and Fluff singing merrily, as the carriage rolled
away:

"Rosebud fine and Rosebud mine,
And Rosebud red as the ruby wine,
I'll lay you now at my true-love's feet,
And tell me who is the sweetest sweet!"

CHAPTER X.

THE CARRIAGE CLOUD.

"GOOD evening to you all!" I said, as I stepped in at the nursery
window. "This is a night for a journey, if you please. All the rough and
unruly Winds are out of the way, for there is to be a match to-night
between the North-east wind and a Southern tornado, to see which can
blow the harder, and all their relations have gone to look on. But our
seven little friends have no liking for such rough bear-play, and they
are waiting outside, with a carriage-cloud which will hold you all. So
jump up, and call Nibble an