WHITE-FOOT 35 



There was nothing for such conduct, then, of 

 course, except to kill her. But I did not kill her, 

 though I take no credit to myself, for I tried to kill 

 her, as any one would have been tempted to do. 



I got her out of that linen-drawer in a hurry and 

 chased her from cupboard to couch, to radiator and 

 bookcase, and lost her. The next day I resumed the 

 chase, and upset most of the furniture before she 

 finally gave me the slip. The next day she appeared, 

 and once more we turned things upside down, and 

 once more from some safe corner she watched me 

 put the chairs back on their legs and pick up the 

 pieces of things. 



But the next morning, as I opened the grate of 

 the kitchen stove to light the fire, there in the ash-pan 

 huddled that little mouse ; and under her in a bed 

 of ashes, as if to reproach 

 me forever, were five wee 

 mice, just born, blind and 

 naked in the choking dust, 

 babes that should have been 

 sleeping covered in a bed of downy damask in the 

 linen-drawer. 



I said I did not kill her. No, I reached in slowly, 

 lifted her and her babes out softly in my hand, car- 

 ried them into a safe, warm place and left them, de- 

 voutly hoping that they might all grow up to help 

 themselves, if need be, to an ear of pop-corn, or even 

 to a cozy corner and a sip of honey in the beehives. 



