And she took her little handkerchief out of the pocket of her nighty
and began to wipe her eyes with it.

"Not yet," said Rudolf hastily. "I put some candy into my pajamas
pocket when I went to bed, because the time I like to eat it best is
just before breakfast--if people only wouldn't row so about my doing
it. Let me see--it was two chocolate mice I had--I hope they didn't
get squashed when we were playing! No, here they are." The chocolate
mice were a little the worse for wear, in fact there were white
streaks on them where the chocolate had rubbed off on the inside of
Rudolf's pocket, but the children didn't mind that. They thought they
had never seen anything that looked more delicious.

"I will cut them in three pieces with my sword," said Rudolf. "You may
have the heads, Ann, and me the middle parts, and Peter the tails
because he is the youngest."

This arrangement did not suit Peter. "I will _not_ eat the tails," he
screamed, kicking his heels angrily against the rock,--"the tails is
made out of nassy old string!" And, I am sorry to say, Peter made a
snatch at both chocolate mice and knocked them out of Rudolf's hand.
This, of course, made it necessary for Rudolf to box Peter's ears, and
a tussle quickly followed, in the middle of which something dreadful
happened. The large flat rock they were sitting on gave several queer
shakes and heaves and then suddenly rose right up under the three
children and threw them head over heels into the air. They were not a
bit hurt, but they were very, very much surprised when they scrambled
to their feet and saw the rock erect on a long kind of tail it had,
glaring at them out of one red angry eye.