"Sieve my lady's oatmeal, Grind my lady's flour, Put it in a chestnut, Let it stand an hour—" 

                "Mew! Mew!" interrupted Simpkin, and he scratched at the door. But the key was under the tailor's pillow; he could not get in. The little mice only laughed, and tried another tune—                           "Three little mice sat down to spin, Pussy passed by and she peeped in. What are you at, my fine little men?                          Making coats for gentlemen. Shall I come in and cut off yours threads? Oh, no, Miss Pussy, You'd bite off our heads!" 

                "Mew! scratch! scratch!" scuffled Simpkin on the window-sill; while the little mice inside sprang to their feet, and all began to shout all at once in little twittering voices: "No more twist! No more twist!" And they barred up the window-shutters and shut out Simpkin. Simpkin came away from the shop and went home considering in his mind. He found the poor old tailor without fever, sleeping peacefully. Then Simpkin went on tip-toe and took a little parcel of silk out of the tea-pot; and looked at it in the moonlight; and he felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with those good little mice! When the tailor awoke in the morning, the first thing which he saw, upon the patchwork quilt, was a skein of cherry-coloured twisted silk, and beside his bed stood the repentant Simpkin! 

                The sun was shining on the snow when the tailor got up and dressed, and came out into the street with Simpkin running before him.                 "Alack," said the tailor, "I have my twist; but no more strength—nor time—than will serve to make me one single buttonhole; for this is Christmas Day in the Morning! The Mayor of Gloucester shall be married by noon—and where is his cherry-                coloured coat?"                 He unlocked the door of the little shop in Westgate Street, and Simpkin ran in, like a 

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