sang--but they sang their own little noises, not the words they had sung
in the night.

"Alack," said the tailor, "I have my twist; but no more strength--nor
time--than will serve to make me one single button-hole; for this is
Christmas Day in the Morning! The Mayor of Gloucester shall be married by
noon--and where is his cherry-coloured coat?"

He unlocked the door of the little shop in Westgate Street, and Simpkin
ran in, like a cat that expects something.

But there was no one there! Not even one little brown mouse!

The boards were swept clean; the little ends of thread and the little silk
snippets were all tidied away, and gone from off the floor.

But upon the table--oh joy! the tailor gave a shout--there, where he had
left plain cuttings of silk--there lay the most beautifullest coat and
embroidered satin waistcoat that ever were worn by a Mayor of Gloucester.

[Illustration]

There were roses and pansies upon the facings of the coat; and the
waistcoat was worked with poppies and corn-flowers.

[Illustration]

Everything was finished except just one single cherry-coloured
button-hole, and where that button-hole was wanting there was pinned a
scrap of paper with these words--in little teeny weeny writing--