They sewed for a long time, squealing merrily now and then as they pricked
their tiny paws. Teenty borrowed Silvy's scissors to cut some thread. A
strange idea popped into her head as she used those sharp, shiny scissors.

"I'm the very onliest one that goes trailing a long tail behind them.
Neither Dolly, Molly, Patty, Fidelia, Topsy, nor Tiny wears a long tail. I
want to look like my twin sister. Say, Tiny, did it hurt awfully when
Buster snipped off your tail?"

"It hurt dreadfully! And it bled and bled. But Limpy-toes cured it,"
remembered Tiny.

"And now no one can step on your tail. That hurts dreadfully, too. I'm
going to cut off my tail."

"Oh, you daresn't, Teenty Graymouse!" they cried in a shrill admiring
chorus.

"You watch. Come back here, Tiny; you shall not tell tales to Mammy. One,
two, three--snip!" Off flew the long slender end of Teenty's tail.

"Oh! oh! Get Dr. Grand-daddy!" cried Teenty, quite scared by the blood and
pain.

Grand-daddy rushed over. All the older mice ran out with their white
aprons full of patchwork squares, thimbles and spools of thread.

"Fetch my bottle of creoline and some warm water, Silvy," ordered Dr.
Whiskers.