his eyes.]

"You must be hungry after your long tramp, Nimble-toes," said Mother
Graymouse. "Supper is all ready."

The little mice crowded around their cousin from the Pond Lily Lake
country. They all talked at once, squealing excitedly and asking all sorts
of questions, until poor Nimble-toes was bewildered.

At last he climbed upon a little red stool and shouted in Uncle Squeaky's
ear:

"I've a message for Grand-daddy Whiskers. Please make 'em be still a
minute, Uncle Hezekiah."

Uncle Squeaky rapped smartly upon the floor with his cane. At once there
was silence.

"Fetch your little stools and sit down to supper, every last mouse of
you!" he commanded. "Let your victuals fill your mouths and stop your
noise. Nimble-toes has brought a word for Grand-daddy."

In a twinkling they were all seated around the long table. Nimble-toes sat
beside Grand-daddy, so he could talk with him easily, for Grand-daddy's
left ear had been torn in a trap and he was somewhat deaf.

"Now we are as still as mice," chuckled Grand-daddy. "Speak out,
Nimble-toes."

"I have a message from our woodfolk, Grand-daddy," began Nimble-toes. "No