their cunning tails, pricked up their beautiful ears, and began telling
one another what they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for a slice
of Roquefort, another for Neufchatel, another for Sap Sago, and a fourth
for Edam; one expressed a preference for de Brie, while another hoped to
get Parmesan; one clamored for imperial blue Stilton, and another craved
the fragrant boon of Caprera. There were fourteen little ones then, and
consequently there were diverse opinions as to the kind of gift which
Santa Claus should best bring; still, there was, as you can readily
understand, an enthusiastic unanimity upon this point, namely, that the
gift should be cheese of some brand or other.

"'My dears,' said our mother, 'what matters it whether the boon which
Santa Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage de Bricquebec,
Vermont sage, or Herkimer County skim-milk? We should be content with
whatsoever Santa Glaus bestows, so long as it be cheese, disjoined from
all traps whatsoever, unmixed with Paris green, and free from glass,
strychnine, and other harmful ingredients. As for myself, I shall be
satisfied with a cut of nice, fresh Western reserve; for truly I recognize
in no other viand or edible half the fragrance or half the gustfulness to
be met with in one of these pale but aromatic domestic products. So run
away to your dreams now, that Santa Claus may find you sleeping.'

"The children obeyed,--all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the others think what
they please,' said she, 'but _I_ don't believe in Santa Claus. I'm
not going to bed, either. I'm going to creep out of this dark hole and
have a quiet romp, all by myself, in the moonlight.' Oh, what a vain,
foolish, wicked little mouse was Squeaknibble! But I will not reproach the
dead; her punishment came all too swiftly. Now listen: who do you suppose
overheard her talking so disrespectfully of Santa Claus?"