not even trust her own
dear little mouse to whom she had been so kind:

"For shame, for shame!" she cried. "See how deceitful you are. But you
shall have no more sugar from me, you can be sure of that."

But the mouse sat in her hole and cried also. First because of the sugar
which she was not to get any longer. Next because of the rat-catcher who
was to come. And then because of the kind young lady, who was so unjust
to her. For, though she had taken the cinnamon, it was not she who had
gnawed a hole in the packing-case. And it was too much to expect of an
ordinary, plain little mouse that she should say no when a rat invited
her to such a feast. But she couldn't talk to her young lady and explain
it to her; and so, of course, she would never get any more sugar in
future.

Over in the barn, the rat lay snug and warm in her nest. Her young ones
grew from day to day. By the time that they had been a month in the
world, they were big, greedy rats who did credit to their mamma and
scooted about in every direction.

"You were right, miss, there are rats here," said the odd man. "But they
are brown ones, who are much worse than the black ones that were here
before. I am half-inclined to believe that they came in the
packing-case from Copenhagen. I have never been there, but my cousin,
who is in service in the town, tells me that there are an awful lot of
them."

"It's quite possible," said the forester's daughter. "But I know that my
little mouse had something to do with it; so I don't defend her any
longer and I don't give her any sugar either."

"That's right," said the odd man. "For rats and mice are one and the
same thing; and they are noxious vermin, the whole lot of them. If we
let them get the upper hand of us, they would soon eat us out of house
and home."

"The rat-catcher is coming on Thursday," said the forester. "Jens must
drive to the station to fetch him. And the young man from the School of
Forestry, who is to be my assistant, is coming by the same train. I am
too old now and can't look after the wood as I ought to."

5

More time passed and it was winter.

All the birds that ever went away had gone. The leaves had fallen from
the trees; it had frozen and it had snowed. The wood had been quite
white and beautiful and then again sloppy and wretched to look at, for
that's what winter is in Denmark. The forester seldom went out into the
wood since his assistant had arrived. He generally sat in his