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“Shh! he’ll hear you,” Nibble warned. “There, your head will stop whirling pretty soon.” He knew just how she felt, ’cause he’d felt the same way himself—the time he tumbled off the back of that Red Cow he took for a log when Silvertip was chasing him.

But Tommy wasn’t even thinking about Satin-skin, let alone listening for her. He stamped his tall rubber boots and sucked his poor nipped finger. “Funniest thing!” he wondered to himself. “I just know there was a rabbit in that trap. I saw him go in there. I don’t guess it’s very much good. I’ll try the pitcher-wire.”

Nibble squirmed and flounced like a fish on the end of a line.

So he pulled on his red mitten and tramped off to the path in the bushes by the fence he’d seen Nibble slip through. This time he bent down a springy sapling and tied a loop of wire to the tip of it—the soft kind you use to hang pictures. And he pegged the lower edge of the loop across Nibble’s pathway.

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Meanwhile, Nibble was busy comforting the lady mouse. “There, there! Don’t squeal any more. You’re not hurt a bit. But really, this gets more and more curiouser. Now Silvertip would certainly have eaten you. But I don’t see yet why folks are so scared of a Man, if that’s all he can do to you.”