House Mous* 



That peculiar tint popularly known as mouse colour seldom 

 attracts attention to the wearer, and the almost hairless tail, while 

 undoubtedly a most useful member, is not likely to become 

 bedraggled or in the way in places where the sort of tail carried by 

 the average little beast would prove a nuisance or a positive danger to 

 its owner. A mouse's tail, although it looks naked, will be found 

 on closer inspection to be covered with short hairs, just long enough 

 to turn aside the moisture instead of retaining it. 



Try to imagine what the tail of a squirrel or weasel would look 

 like after having been dragged across cream and butter and the 

 various other substances with which the average house mouse 

 endeavours to surround itself ; its owner would quickly be reduced to 

 amputating the bothersome member in sheer desperation. Mice it is 

 believed even use their tails for skimming the cream from pans of 

 milk, when they are unable to reach it in any other way. 



Neither is the tail of a mouse much source of danger to the little 

 beast as might be supposed. It certainly has the appearance of 

 a most convenient handle for cats or other enemies to seize 

 upon, but the skin which covers it, like that of a squirrel is 

 but loosely attached, and slips off readily enough to permit the 

 escape of many a desperate mouse. It is not at all uncommon 

 to find mice that have lost the skin from their tails in this 

 manner. The process must necessarily be a decidedly painful 

 one, but the wound heals in course of time and the mouse is 

 still possessed of a tail, even if it is bereft of most of its 

 former suppleness. One would suppose that a tail which could 

 easily be broken clear off like those of some reptiles would be 

 an improvement. 



Of all mice the ones that dwell high up in the mows of 

 old-style barns, interest me most. They are, perhaps, as little 

 mischievous as any of their kind; and as comfortably situated, 

 except as regards their water supply. 



Mice 1 believe are compelled to drink frequently; and except 

 when violent storms drive rain or snow through the cracks of 

 the building, those living in the hay must evidently go to the 

 trouble of descending to the ground as often as they are thirsty. 



Their homes are in the mortises of the timber wherever the 

 oak tenons were badly fitted or have shrunk away, leaving cosy 

 little pockets in the very heart of the beam, dry and warm 

 with a passage of suitable size leading down to them, as if ex- 



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