Stuart Little Read Free Page B

Stuart,”
suggested Mrs. Little. “It is quite possible that the mousehole branches and
twists about, and that he has lost his way.”
    “Very well,” said Mr.
Little. “I will count three, then we will all call, then we will all keep
perfectly quiet for three seconds, listening for the answer.” He took out his
watch.
    Mr. and Mrs. Little and
George got down on their hands and knees and put their mouths as close as
possible to the mousehole. Then they all called: “Stooooo-art!” And then they all
kept perfectly still for three seconds.
    Stuart, from his cramped
position inside the rolled-up shade, heard them yelling in the pantry and
called back, “Here I am!” But he had such a weak voice and was so far inside
the shade that the other members of the family did not hear his answering cry.
    “Again!” said Mr. Little. “One,
two, three-Stooooo-art!”
    It was no use. No answer was
heard. Mrs. Little went up to her bedroom, lay down, and sobbed. Mr. Little
went to the telephone and called up the Bureau of Missing Persons, but when the
man asked for a description of Stuart and was told that he was only two inches
high, he hung up in disgust. George meantime went down cellar and hunted around
to see if he could find the other entrance to the mousehole. He moved a great
many trunks, suitcases, flower pots, baskets, boxes, and broken chairs from one
end of the cellar to the other in order to get at the section of wall which he
thought was likeliest, but found no hole. He did, however, come across an old
discarded rowing machine of Mr. Little’s, and becoming interested in this,
carried it upstairs with some difficulty and spent the rest of the morning
rowing.
    When lunchtime came
(everybody had forgotten about breakfast) all three sat down to a lamb stew
which Mrs. Little had prepared, but it was a sad meal, each one trying not to
stare at the small empty chair which Stuart always occupied, right next to Mrs.
Little’s glass of water. No one could eat, so great was the sorrow. George ate
a bit of dessert but nothing else. When lunch was over Mrs. Little broke out
crying again, and said she thought Stuart must be dead. “Nonsense, nonsense!”
growled Mr. Little.
    “If he is dead,” said
George, “we ought to pull down the shades all through the house.” And he raced
to the windows and began pulling down the shades.
    “George!” shouted Mr. Little
in an exasperated tone, “if you don’t stop acting in an idiotic fashion, I will
have to punish you.
    We are having enough trouble
today without having to cope with your foolishness.”
    But George had already run
into the living room and had begun to darken it, to show his respect for the dead.
He pulled a cord and out dropped Stuart onto the window sill.
    “Well, for the love of Pete,”
said George. “Look who’s here, Mom!”
    “It’s about time somebody
pulled down that shade,” remarked Stuart. “That’s all I can say.” He was quite
weak and hungry.
    Mrs. Little was so overjoyed
to see him that she kept right on crying. Of course, everybody wanted to know
how it had happened.
    “It was simply an accident
that might happen to anybody,” said Stuart. “As for my hat and cane being found
at the entrance to the mousehole, you can draw your own conclusions.”
    VI. A Fair Breeze
    One morning when the wind
was from the west, Stuart put on his sailor suit and his sailor hat, took his
spyglass down from the shelf, and set out for a walk, full of the joy of life
and the fear of dogs. With a rolling gait he sauntered along toward Fifth
Avenue, keeping a sharp lookout.
    Whenever he spied a dog
through his glass, Stuart would hurry to the nearest doorman, climb his
trouserleg, and hide in the tails of his uniform. And once, when no doorman was
handy, he had to crawl into a yesterday’s paper and roll himself up in the
second section till danger was past.
    At the corner of Fifth
Avenue there were several people waiting for the uptown bus, and Stuart