is a very simple language. You see, I hear a great deal of
flower-gossip, for my moonbeams are sad chatterboxes, and they bring me
back all sorts of news when they come home in the morning. How the
burglar-bees robbed old Madam Peony, how the daffodils in the long
border had been flirting with the regiment of purple flags behind
them, when the Tulip family are expected; yes, there is no end to the
things I hear. But if I told all I know, everybody would be as wise as I
am, so let us go on about the mice. [Illustration: FLUFF AND PUFF.]

[Illustration]

Well, at about three o'clock in the afternoon of this fine day that I
have been describing, a large carriage, drawn by two fine black horses,
drove through the old gateway and down the quiet, lovely lane, and
stopped in front of the house. The very instant the wheels ceased to
turn, the door of the carriage burst open with a crash, and out jumped,
rolled, and tumbled my five mice. First came Nibble, in jacket and
trousers and cap. One jump out of the carriage, another to the top of a
post, and there he was. Next came Brighteyes, all flying, feet and curls
and hat and ribbons. Then one of the twins rolled out, and the other
tumbled out; and one was hurt, and the other was not. That is always the
way with those two children. One is lucky, and one unlucky. Puff always
falls on her feet. Fluff always falls on her head. Uncle Jack often
calls them Hap and Hazard, and that is the only difference between them.
However, when they got up and shook themselves, I saw that they were
very pretty little girls. Now I will make you a picture of them. Yes, I
can draw pictures too; in fact, there are very few things that I cannot
do if I try. Here they are, Puff and Fluff, two of the dearest mice in
the world.

[Illustration]

Next a gentleman stepped out of the carriage; a very, very tall
gentleman, with very broad shoulders, and very bright eyes. That was
Uncle Jack; and he helped Mrs. Posset to get out, for she had Downy
asleep in her arms, and he was a pretty good armful. Then Uncle Jack
took some bags and bundles out of the carriage; then he turned round and
said "Now, children, we will"--There he stopped, for not a child was to
be seen, except little fat Downy, fast asleep. Uncle Jack stared about
him. Posts, trees, house, but no children. "Sure they're all gone,
surr," said John the coachman. "'Twould be as aisy to ketch the wind and
kape it still as thim childher." And John nev