growled at the tailor; and if Simpkin had been able to talk, he would have
asked: "Where is my MOUSE?"

"Alack, I am undone!" said the Tailor of Gloucester, and went sadly to
bed.

All that night long Simpkin hunted and searched through the kitchen,
peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot, and into the tea-pot where
he had hidden that twist; but still he found never a mouse!

Whenever the tailor muttered and talked in his sleep, Simpkin said
"Miaw-ger-r-w-s-s-ch!" and made strange horrid noises, as cats do at
night.

[Illustration]

For the poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning in
his four-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled--"No more twist! no
more twist!"

All that day he was ill, and the next day, and the next; and what should
become of the cherry-coloured coat? In the tailor's shop in Westgate
Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon the
table--one-and-twenty button-holes--and who should come to sew them, when
the window was barred, and the door was fast locked?

But that does not hinder the little brown mice; they run in and out
without any keys through all the old houses in Gloucester!

[Illustration]