House Mouse / 
That peculiar tint popularly known as mouse colour sen 
attracts attention to the wearer, and the almost hairless tail While 
undoubtedly a most useful member, is not likely to beame 
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 | 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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