"E--n--e--m--y, enemy," chanted five obedient mice.

"T--r--a--p, trap," went on Mother Graymouse.

"T--r--a--p, trap," echoed her scholars.

"C--a--t, cat," she continued firmly.

"C--a--t, cat," shrilled all five.

"P--o--i--s--o--n, poison; that is the last word."

"P--o--i--s--o--n, poison," finished the tired little scholars with a
sigh.

"Very good," smiled Mother Graymouse. "Very good, indeed! School is
dismissed. You may run out and play."

Buster waved his paw high.

"Please, Mammy, I've made a new song. May I sing it now?"

"We shall all be delighted. Hush, hush, Squealer, while your clever
brother sings to us."

Buster folded his paws in his lap and sang very sweetly:

"Traps are our enemies,
Old Tom Cats, too;