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“Mice,” he said, “it’s that Man!”

Before he could twiddle a tail, Tommy’s red mitten was across the hole, and Tommy’s bare pink paw was closing on—the lady mouse. Then things began to fly!

Nibble was among them. He flew to the next little cornstalk tent, his heart thumping faster than his paws. “They were all of them right!” he gasped. “That Man is dangerous—dangerous as Silvertip himself. Poor Satin-skin! I s’pose that’s the end of her.”

He never thought of saying, “Poor Tommy Peele!” But Tommy was the right one to feel sorry for. Satin-skin had closed her little needle teeth on his finger. And before Nibble had taken a long breath he heard a voice squeaking, “Weeak! weeak! weeak!” which is mouse for, “I’m lost! Where are you?”

“Here!” he thumped with both hind feet. And who should come scuttling in but Satin-skin herself? He could feel her tremble all over as she tried to squirm right under him.

“My ears!” Nibble exclaimed. “I thought that Man had caught you!”

“No, I caught him!” wept the little lady mouse. “But he shook me so hard I was scared to let go again. And when I did, he sent me tail over ears. I tell you, it was awful! wee-eeak!”