Towser, Miss Spaniel
and four or five other dogs, barking and yelping.
"Oh me, oh my, how frightened I was! Up a tree I scurried as fast as my
legs would carry me, and not until I was safe on the highest limb did I
look around to see Mr. Fox, who didn't care the snap of his claws for
dogs; but, bless you, he was going toward the meadow with his tail
hanging straight out behind him, while the dogs were gaining on him at
every jump. Mr. Towser told me afterward that they made Mr. Fox just
about as sick as Mrs. Toad made the bugs."
"What was it Mrs. Toad did?" your Aunt Amy asked, and Mrs. Mouser
replied with a grin:
"Perhaps you never heard that Mr. Crow is a great hand at making
poetry?"
[Illustration: Mr. Crow.]
"I have indeed," your Aunt Amy replied, and it was only with difficulty
she prevented herself from laughing aloud. "I have heard of his poetry
from every bird and animal around this farm."
[Illustration: Mr. Fox forgets how bold he was as the dogs chase him
through the field.]
A WET-WEATHER PARTY.
"Then perhaps you don't care to hear any more?" Mrs. Mouser said
inquiringly.
"Indeed I do," your Aunt Amy replied, "if it is anything new, and I
surely have never heard of a wet-weather party."
[Illustration: Mr. and Miss Cricket.]
Mrs. Mouser stroked her whiskers a moment, and then began to repeat the
following:
A little Black Ant was journeying home
From a marketing visit to town,
When down came the ram, pitter-patter, so fast,
It threatened to spoil her best gown.
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