sobbed Granny.

"So we will, Granny, so we will. The weather is still mild. Never fear;
have I not taken good care of you all?"

Then came a day, when to Granny's great joy, Uncle Squeaky announced that
they would begin to pack next morning.

"The ground is hard and smooth. It will be easy to pull our cart. We must
start before the heavy rains begin," he planned, "for after that there
will be deep, frozen ruts."

That last night by the Lake was a merry one. The Field-Mouse family came
to spend the evening. Buster sang his sweetest songs, the kiddies recited
verses they had learned at school, and Uncle Squeaky's band played for the
last time.

"I'll take our instruments over to Wild Rose Cottage and lock 'em up
tomorrow," planned Limpy-toes.

"It doesn't seem possible that we shall be back in our attic tomorrow
night," said Dot.

"I thought we'd be there long ago," sighed Granny. "Your Grand-daddy is
getting slow in his old age."

"Not slow, Granny, just moderate," corrected Grand-daddy. "Which reminds
me of two mice I once knew. One mouse never would hurry. Ah, he was slow!
He said he'd get through this world soon enough if he went slowly."