blissfully in the town house. Their dutiful monthly dinners with Bart and Bernie cast only a fleeting shadow on their happiness. Mousey put on plays, which Horatio and Bentley and Flossie attended. Mousey and Horatio read together in the library. They played long hours of Monopoly, pinochle, hearts, and pool. They found a white kitten in the alley behind the town house and adopted him. They named him Louie and fattened him up on sardines and cream and taught him tricks. He was best at lying down, playing dead, and pretending to be deaf.
One morning Mousey and Horatio sat eating their breakfast at the long polished table in the dining room. They were both sleepy. The burglar alarm had gone off in the town house the night before for the second time in two weeks, scaring them awake. No burglars had been found, but it was disturbing nonetheless.
"Mousey, darling," Horatio said. "I've been thinking. Living in the city isn't nearly what it used to be. It's noisy and dirty and dangerous, and we both prefer to stay home and be with each other instead of going out. My business can be run from anywhere, as long as I have a telephone, a computer, and a fax machine. Why don't we move to the country? We could have a pool and a tennis court and fresh air and sunshine."
Mousey smiled. "I've been thinking that would be a good thing, too," she said in her little voice. "The country is a much nicer place to raise a child."
"But we don't have a child."
"In seven months we will." Mousey smiled her incandescent smile.
Horatio stood up so suddenly his chair fell over backward. Tears of joy filmed his eyes as he gathered Mousey into his arms.
The next morning Horatio and Mousey began their search for the perfect country house.
It turned out to be far harder than they'd thought it would be. The houses that were big enough were ugly. The ones that were pretty enough were too small. And those that were just right weren't for sale.
After weeks of fruitless searching, Horatio said to Mousey, "I've decided that if we're going to get what we want, we'll have to build our own house. So let's look for the perfect
land
instead of the perfect house."
The very next day they found exactly what they were looking for. At the side of a winding country road, forty miles from the little village of Jupiter, stood a battered old sign that said 33 ACRES FOR SALE, CHEAP. Underneath was a phone number.
Bentley parked the car, and the three of them got out and walked around the property. There were large oak trees spreading their branches over perfect picnic spots. A little brook shimmered between mossy banks, chuckling over the rocks in the streambed. Wildflowers dotted the sunny green acres, and anthems of birdsong filled the air.
Mousey clapped her hands and cried, "It's perfect. I can almost see our house up on that knoll."
"Me, too," Horatio said, and they piled back into the car and drove as fast as they could until they found a phone booth, from which Horatio called the number on the sign. The real estate agent agreed to meet them at the sign in thirty minutes.
"He said it's been for sale a long time," Horatio told Mousey and Bentley as they drove back the way they'd come. "I can't understand why. The price is very reasonable and the place has a perfect building site."
"Maybe because it's so isolated," Mousey suggested. "It
is
forty miles from a grocery store." Because of the life she'd led before she met Horatio, Mousey was much more practical than, he.
"Perhaps," Horatio agreed, looking fondly at her and thinking how clever she was.
Before long an old blue car with a dented front fender drove up. A man in a yellow suit and matching shoes got out. He looked first at the Daimler, then at Mousey, and then at Bentley. By the time he focused on Horatio, he was rubbing his hands together.
"My name is Sid Skeet and I'd like to congratulate you folks on your shrewdness. This is the finest parcel of land in three counties. It's buildable, has water,
One morning Mousey and Horatio sat eating their breakfast at the long polished table in the dining room. They were both sleepy. The burglar alarm had gone off in the town house the night before for the second time in two weeks, scaring them awake. No burglars had been found, but it was disturbing nonetheless.
"Mousey, darling," Horatio said. "I've been thinking. Living in the city isn't nearly what it used to be. It's noisy and dirty and dangerous, and we both prefer to stay home and be with each other instead of going out. My business can be run from anywhere, as long as I have a telephone, a computer, and a fax machine. Why don't we move to the country? We could have a pool and a tennis court and fresh air and sunshine."
Mousey smiled. "I've been thinking that would be a good thing, too," she said in her little voice. "The country is a much nicer place to raise a child."
"But we don't have a child."
"In seven months we will." Mousey smiled her incandescent smile.
Horatio stood up so suddenly his chair fell over backward. Tears of joy filmed his eyes as he gathered Mousey into his arms.
The next morning Horatio and Mousey began their search for the perfect country house.
It turned out to be far harder than they'd thought it would be. The houses that were big enough were ugly. The ones that were pretty enough were too small. And those that were just right weren't for sale.
After weeks of fruitless searching, Horatio said to Mousey, "I've decided that if we're going to get what we want, we'll have to build our own house. So let's look for the perfect
land
instead of the perfect house."
The very next day they found exactly what they were looking for. At the side of a winding country road, forty miles from the little village of Jupiter, stood a battered old sign that said 33 ACRES FOR SALE, CHEAP. Underneath was a phone number.
Bentley parked the car, and the three of them got out and walked around the property. There were large oak trees spreading their branches over perfect picnic spots. A little brook shimmered between mossy banks, chuckling over the rocks in the streambed. Wildflowers dotted the sunny green acres, and anthems of birdsong filled the air.
Mousey clapped her hands and cried, "It's perfect. I can almost see our house up on that knoll."
"Me, too," Horatio said, and they piled back into the car and drove as fast as they could until they found a phone booth, from which Horatio called the number on the sign. The real estate agent agreed to meet them at the sign in thirty minutes.
"He said it's been for sale a long time," Horatio told Mousey and Bentley as they drove back the way they'd come. "I can't understand why. The price is very reasonable and the place has a perfect building site."
"Maybe because it's so isolated," Mousey suggested. "It
is
forty miles from a grocery store." Because of the life she'd led before she met Horatio, Mousey was much more practical than, he.
"Perhaps," Horatio agreed, looking fondly at her and thinking how clever she was.
Before long an old blue car with a dented front fender drove up. A man in a yellow suit and matching shoes got out. He looked first at the Daimler, then at Mousey, and then at Bentley. By the time he focused on Horatio, he was rubbing his hands together.
"My name is Sid Skeet and I'd like to congratulate you folks on your shrewdness. This is the finest parcel of land in three counties. It's buildable, has water,
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