ed body to the murderous mouth of
mousedom's most malignant foe. I can dwell no longer upon this
harrowing scene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow's sun
rose like a big yellow Herkimer County cheese upon the spot
where that tragedy had been enacted, poor Squeaknibble passed to
that bourn whence two inches of her beautiful tail had preceded
her by the space of three weeks to a day. As for Santa Claus,
when he came that Christmas eve, bringing morceaux de Brie and
of Stilton for the other little mice, he heard with sorrow of
Squeaknibble's fate; and ere he departed he said that in all his
experience he had never known of a mouse or of a child that had
prospered after once saying that he didn't believe in Santa
Claus."

"Well, that is a remarkable story," said the old clock. "But if
you believe in Santa Claus, why aren't you in bed?"

"That's where I shall be presently," answered the little mauve
mouse, "but I must have my scamper you know. It is very
pleasant, I assure you, to frolic in the light of the moon; only
I cannot understand why you are always so cold and so solemn and
so still, you pale, pretty little moonbeam."

"Indeed, I do not know that I am so," said the moonbeam. "But I
am very old, and I have travelled many, many, leagues, and I
have seen wondrous things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean,
sometimes I fall upon a slumbering flower, sometimes I rest upon
a dead child's face. I see the fairies at their play, and I hear
mothers singing lullabies. Last night I swept across the frozen
bosom of a river. A woman's face looked up at me; it was the
picture of eternal rest. 'She is sleeping,' said the frozen
river. 'I'll rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gently
by, O moonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken her.'"

"How strangely you talk," said the old clock. "Now, I'll warrant
me that, if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty and
wonderful story. You must know many a Christmas tale; pray, tell
us one to wear away this night of Christmas watching."

"I know but one," said the moonbeam. "I have told it over and
over again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not weary
of it. It is very simple. Should you like to hear it?"

"Indeed we should," said the old clock; "but before you begin,
let me strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you."

When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat more
than usual alacrity, the moonbeam began its story:

"Upon a time--so lon