Minnie; or, The Little Woman Part 11

Then she knew that all the rest must be near, and, jumping on top of the toadstool, she said,

"You mischievous fellows, I dare say you are all laughing at me in your hiding-places; but hear this! your mother is dead, perhaps, and as sure as you stay out of your nest at night, some mischief will come to you.

I shall waste no more time in this search."

Wasn't it ungrateful in the mice to disobey Minnie, when she had taken so much trouble for their sakes? And yet I have known children whose parents took as much pains for their sake, and who were as thoughtless and disobedient as Minnie's mice.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FREE AT LAST.

When Minnie returned to the nest, whom should she meet but mouse in the midst of her little ones?

The mate was there also. He had come partly to help home his wife,--who had lamed her foot in the trap,--and partly to boast of his wonderful courage and ingenuity in setting her free.

Both were very profuse in their thanks to Minnie; for the young mice had already told of her kindness and care. Minnie interrupted their thanks to ask the news from home.

This, mouse had half forgotten in her flight. She only remembered how, after the trap shut down upon her, the pantry-door had opened, and a lady came in.

"Tell me exactly how she looked," said Minnie.

"She wore a gown of pink muslin, and pink ribbons in her hair."

"O, that was my own mother! How I wish I had been in your place!"

"I wished so too. When she lifted her hand and took down a jar of sweetmeats, that stood close by the trap, I felt sure she'd see me, and have me killed. O, how I trembled! It was as much as ever I could do to keep from squeaking when I thought of my mate, and all the little ones."

"Was my mother alone?"

"No; a little boy came with her, and watched while she took the sweetmeats out into a dish. Before closing the jar, I saw her give him a taste of the delicious pine-apple."

"How did you know it was pine-apple?"

"O, after my mate had set me free, we waited to lap up a few drops that trickled down the side of the jar. We know the taste of good things! Was that boy your brother?"

"No; it was dear Franky, my playfellow, who lives at the other side of the fence. Didn't he say anything?"

"He asked the lady if she supposed Minnie was where she could have nice pine-apple for tea. I couldn't hear the answer, for they both left the pantry then."

"My generous Franky! He always thought more of others than himself."

"Don't cry, dear, and I'll call you my generous Minnie. Think! if you had not been so kind, all our little ones might have starved."

"Yes; and my own wife might have dried up into a skeleton in that dreadful trap!" said the father-mouse. "How glad we are that we have such a kind friend to live with us always!"

Alas, it was hard for Minnie now to tell that she meant to leave their nest! But, hearing the slow steps of turtle brush through the gra.s.s above, she thanked the mice for their good-will, and hurried out into the sunshine, to meet her new and faithful friend.

As for the mice, they were so taken by surprise, that at first they could only look after her, without saying a word. But, before she had reached the brook, Minnie heard a squeaking and scrambling underground; and, from a little opening, which she had not seen before, up darted mouse and her mate, trembling with anger, and talking so noisily, both at once, that she could not make out what either said.

Meantime turtle, who had little respect for mice, kept on at his steady, slow pace, through the gra.s.s. As Minnie was mounted on his back, the mice were obliged to travel also, in order that she might hear their complaints and reproaches.

For they had forgotten all about grat.i.tude, now, and could only grieve over the missing broods of young.

As soon as Minnie discovered this, she begged turtle to wait a moment, that she might tell her side of the tale; but on he jogged, and, when the mice would not be still, snapped at them so fiercely with his snaky head, that they both scampered home in fright.

They had not grieved for naught. Four of the truants had drowned themselves in attempting to cross the brook; two had been eaten by a crow; and the rest were snapped up at a mouthful, by a spaniel, that happened to run through the field.

CHAPTER XXIV.

TURTLE.

You remember Minnie was a restless little soul; and will not be surprised to learn that she had not lived with the turtle long before his slow ways tired her.

He was stubborn and disobliging, too. If he started for a place, she couldn't make him turn one inch aside; but on, on, on he crept at the same slow pace,--no matter whether Minnie were wet, and half-frozen with rain, or parched with sunshine,--on, on, till he reached his goal.

Still he was always quiet and dignified, had no quarrels with his neighbors, and seemed to treat his little guest as well as he knew how.

It is true he surprised her in disagreeable ways sometimes. If he saw a pool of deep mud by the road-side he would wallow through it, sadly soiling Minnie's fine cloak of humming-bird feathers. She knew he was partial to mud, and would not have blamed him so much had this excursion been all; but, instead of going back to the gra.s.s, where she might wipe herself clean, he would mount some slanting log that rose out of the water, and stand there sunning himself for hours.

One day, a gentleman, who was driving past in a chaise, saw Minnie and the turtle perched thus on a log, and stopped to examine the curious object.

Turtle drew his head inside of his sh.e.l.l at once, and left poor Minnie to her fate.

Now it happened that the traveller was a great naturalist, and especially fond of collecting turtles. He had hundreds of them, snapping at each other, and scrambling over each others' backs, in his yard at home.

Still he was always on the watch for a new specimen; and here was a famous one, he thought. Springing from his chaise, the gentleman ran to the other side of the brook, and was walking cautiously toward them, when turtle thought it time to look out for his own safety. So, dropping from the log, he disappeared in the thick, muddy bottom of the brook.

The naturalist went back, disappointed, to his chaise. Minnie, in pa.s.sing, caught at some iris-leaves, and clung to them. As soon as she could wipe the water from her mouth, she called out, "Allow me to bid you good-by, Mr. Turtle. I think I can take as good care of myself as you've taken of me thus far, and henceforth I will save you the trouble."

"What's that? I'm rather thick of hearing," said turtle, from under the mud.

"Good-by, that's all!" And, by the time he had reached the end of his log once more, Minnie was floating down the brook on a pond-lily leaf, diving every now and then to cleanse herself from the mud which turtle had dragged her through.

"Why shouldn't I live by myself? Where's the use in giving others so much trouble?" she said now. "Why cannot I play with the flowers and b.u.t.terflies, run races with the ripples, and bright little fishes, in the brook; or sleep on any bank of moss, or in any empty bird's nest that I can find? At least, let me try; and, if I grow hungry or lonesome, there are enough good people to take me in."

CHAPTER XXV.

MINNIE'S WINGS.