Grand-Daddy Whiskers, M.D.

Excerpt

CHAPTER I

A MESSAGE FROM THE WOODFOLK

Nimble-toes Field-mouse trotted briskly along the dark subway and up the steep attic stairway in Mr. Giant's house. He had travelled a long way from his woodland home and it was getting late. The door of the cosy attic where Cousin Graymouse lived was ajar. Nimble-toes paused to get his breath and peep in at the busy, happy family.

Mother Graymouse sat in her rocking-chair singing to little Squealer. Tiny, Teenty and Buster Graymouse were playing upon the floor near by with their cousins, Wink and Wiggle Squeaky. Aunt Squeaky and Uncle Hezekiah were busy around the stove. Grand-daddy and Granny Whiskers sat in the chimney corner waiting patiently for their supper.

From the pantry came Silver Ears Graymouse and Dot Squeaky, bringing food to the table.

"I hope Limpy-toes Graymouse and Scamper Squeaky have not gone away," thought Nimble-toes.

Somebody stole softly up behind him; two paws blindfolded his eyes.

"It is Limpy-toes," he guessed, trying to be brave in that dark, strange place.

"Right you are, Nimble-toes," laughed Limpy-toes. "Scamper and I have been over to the store to get some cheese. I thought you were a burglar, just at first. Push open the door and trot in."

"It is Cousin Nimble-toes!" cried a noisy chorus of little mice.

"It is Nimble-toes Field-Mouse, sure as I'm a mouse!" declared Uncle
Squeaky. "Welcome to our attic, my lad."

[Illustration: Somebody stole softly up behind him, two paws blindfolded 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 one could write a letter, so they told me what to say. I've said it forty-'leven times, lest I forget. The message is from Pa Field-Mouse, Squire Cricket, Sir Spider, Daddy Grasshopper, Mr. Hop Toad, and Mr. Jack Rabbit. They bade me say this:

"Dr. Grand-daddy Whiskers—

"We woodfolk are sometimes sick; we need a doctor. We wish our children to have a teacher. They must learn to read and write. Our wives must learn to cook and sew....