UNCLE SQUEAKY
The little Graymouse children greeted Uncle Squeaky gleefully. Silver Ears took his fur cap and cane, Limpy-toes hung up his great-coat, and the twins captured both his kindly paws and danced back to the chimney corner with him.
Buster was such a fat, lazy fellow that he just sat upon his little stool and waited for his uncle to come to him.
"Howdy do, Uncle Squeaky?" he said as the others drew their little red-painted stools into a half circle before Uncle Squeaky's arm-chair. "Have you any peppermints in your pocket?"
"And will you please tell us a real exciting story?" begged Silver
Ears.
Uncle Squeaky laughed until tiny wrinkles came all around his twinkling, black eyes and he looked ever so pleasant.
"Just listen to that, Ma Graymouse!" he cried.
"Just listen to that! One would think I was a walking candy store and a story book, all in one. Very sorry, Buster Boy, but I haven't a single peppermint in my pocket. I think you ought not to eat so much candy. You are too fat, already. As for stories, you kiddies have heard every tale that this old gray head holds, time and time again."
He watched the five sober little faces as they sat upon their red-painted stools with their paws folded primly in their laps. Then he winked slyly at Mother Graymouse. "Oh, well, if you are going to feel as bad as all that, perhaps I might manage to tell you one more story," he chuckled. "But I think Silver Ears will hardly call it exciting. And I wonder if you little folk could make some checkermints do?"
He drew forth a handful of pink candies from his pocket and gave them three apiece.
"Bless my stars, how that little Squealer does squeal! Here, Ma Graymouse, stuff his mouth with this candy and I will begin my story:"
"Once upon a time, away up in an attic, so high that it made their fat old uncle puff to climb up to their dwelling, there lived a widow and her six children. Their father met a sad death a short time ago and so her children had to be very brave and work hard to help their dear mother."
"Sniff! Sniff!" went Mother Graymouse behind her handkerchief.
"Boo-hoo!" cried Baby Squealer.
Uncle Squeaky passed Mother Graymouse another checkermint for the baby and went on with his story:
"The oldest son was much like his Daddy, very wise and clever at making things. He was somewhat lame as he had lost the toes of one foot in a trap when he was a small mouse, too small to be wise."
"Limpy-toes!" they cried in a chorus.
"And a great comfort he is, to be sure," put in Mother Graymouse heartily.
"And there was a pretty daughter who loved bright ribbons and spent quite a good deal of time dancing before the looking-glass. But she was good-natured and helpful, with all her gay ways and dainty habits, and every one who knew her loved her."
"Silver Ears, of course!" shouted the others.
"The third little fellow resembled his Grand-daddy Whiskers," continued Uncle Squeaky. "He was fat as a butter ball, so he could not squeeze through holes to hunt for food with the others. He ate so many goodies that he was too tired to do much work, so he had to sit on his little red stool most of the time. But he could sometimes sing the baby to sleep, which was a great blessing. He was a sweet singer and now he is going to sing us a song. Wake up, Buster Boy, and give us a right good tune."
Buster blinked sleepily.
"It is rather warm in this chimney corner," excused Mother Graymouse. "Now, Buster, sing your newest song for Uncle Squeaky; that's a good child."
Buster rubbed his sleepy eyes and began:
"Cheese oh! Merry oh!
Apple pie and cream;
Cheese oh! Merry oh!
Pudding that's a dream.
"Heigh oh! Merry oh!
Spice cake's very nice;
Heigh oh! Merry oh!
We are happy mice."
"A voice just like his poor Daddy's," sighed Mother Graymouse, "and so he is a comfort, too."
"Then there was a pair of twins," resumed Uncle Squeaky. "The two of 'em wouldn't make one good sized mouse. But it did not take much stuff for their dresses and they could steal through the tiniest, teentiest holes, which was often very handy for the whole family."
How they all clapped for Tiny and Teenty!
"Hush!" cautioned Mother Graymouse. "If we make too much noise, the
Giant may be angry and turn us out of our cosy home."
"Then there was a small baby; he was rightly named Squealer," added Uncle Squeaky dryly. "Well, one stormy night when the snow was packed against the windows so you couldn't even peep out, their old uncle made them a visit. He reminded them that once again it was New Year's Eve." He paused solemnly.
"And so we must make new resolutions," smiled Silver Ears.
"Very good," agreed Uncle Squeaky. "Suppose you begin."
"I will obey my mother," said Silver Ears.
"I will try to take poor Daddy's place," said Limpy-toes.
"I will mind the baby," said Tiny.
"I will mind baby, too," said Teenty.
"Your turn, Buster," reminded Uncle Squeaky.
"I will try to wake up mornings," said Buster.
"And not eat so much, my boy. And do a little more work; it is good exercise," advised Uncle Squeaky in a rather severe tone.
"Now that is fine. Good little mice are always obedient and helpful. I think, Ma Graymouse, that you ought to be very happy and contented this year with such dutiful kiddies. Now it is getting late. I must tell you the good news which was my real errand, and then be gone. Granny and Grand-daddy Whiskers have met with great good fortune. They have moved up one flight into the pantry closet. They say the air there is very fine—all sorts of delicious odors. And food! Why, it is hard to choose the bill of fare, there's so many goodies laying around! Granny wishes you to visit her and bring all the kiddies,—especially Buster," he grinned. "Good night. A happy New Year to you all!"
"Happy New Year, Uncle Squeaky!" they called in chorus. "Bring your fiddle next time, uncle," coaxed Silver Ears, as he pulled his fur cap down snugly.
"And don't forget the checkermints," drawled Buster from his little red stool.