d
from all traps whatsoever, unmixed with Paris green, and free from
glass, strychnine, and other harmful ingredients. As for myself, I
shall be satisfied with a cut of nice, fresh Western reserve; for
truly I recognize in no other viand or edible half the fragrance or
half the gustfulness to be met with in one of these pale but aromatic
domestic products. So run away to your dreams now, that Santa Claus
may find you sleeping.'

"The children obeyed,--all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the others think
what they please,' said she, 'but _I_ don't believe in Santa Claus.
I'm not going to bed, either. I'm going to creep out of this dark hole
and have a quiet romp, all by myself, in the moonlight.' Oh, what a
vain, foolish, wicked little mouse was Squeaknibble! But I will not
reproach the dead; her punishment came all too swiftly. Now listen:
who do you suppose overheard her talking so disrespectfully of Santa
Claus?"

"Why, Santa Claus himself," said the old clock.

"Oh, no," answered the little mauve mouse. "It was that wicked,
murderous cat! Just as Satan lurks and lies in wait for bad children,
so does the cruel cat lurk and lie in wait for naughty little mice.
And you can depend upon it that, when that awful cat heard
Squeaknibble speak so disrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wicked eyes
glowed with joy, her sharp teeth watered, and her bristling fur
emitted electric sparks as big as marrowfat peas. Then what did that
blood-thirsty monster do but scuttle as fast as she could into
Dear-my-Soul's room, leap up into Dear-my-Soul's crib, and walk off
with the pretty little white muff which Dear-my-Soul used to wear when
she went for a visit to the little girl in the next block! What upon
earth did the horrid old cat want with Dear-my-Soul's pretty little
white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity of that cat!
Listen.

"In the first place," resumed the little mauve mouse, after a pause
that testified eloquently to the depth of her emotion,--"in the first
place, that wretched cat dressed herself up in that pretty little
white muff, by which you are to understand that she crawled through
the muff just so far as to leave her four cruel legs at liberty."

"Yes, I understand," said the old clock.

"Then she put on the boy doll's fur cap," said the little mauve mouse,
"and when she was arrayed in the boy doll's fur cap and Dear-my-Soul's
pretty little white muff, of course she didn't look like a cruel cat
at all. But