The Mouse Family Robinson Read Free Page B

his old friend had eaten it all, they felt quite at home.

    So that when Janet said, “Well, I suppose we’d better get back down to the cellar,” John said, “Why?”
    â€œIt is very comfortable here, Janet,” said Mr. Brown.
    â€œCome on, Mom, let’s stay,” said Beaumont.

    â€œYes, let’s!” chorused Ambrose and Camilla and Desdemona and Eustace and Felicity.
    So they did. But not for long, because soon two things happened. First, the rapidly growing mousekins decided that living with the pet mice was a bit boring, so they went back to the cellar where they could play with their wild friends. Only Beaumont stayed. He liked being with his
friend the giant, and he was interested in getting to know the pet mice. He talked politely to them, and some of them responded in quite a friendly way.

    The second thing to happen was that Janet had another lot of babies—nine this time: six boys and three girls.
    Gilbert, Hermione, Inigo, Julius, Kingsley, Lindsay, Marmaduke, Niobe, and Olivia.
    â€œOnly eleven to go, John,” said his old friend, out of Janet’s hearing.
    â€œWhat d’you mean, Mr. Brown?” John asked.
    â€œEleven more and you’ll have finished your first alphabet of names.”

    â€œGosh!” said John, and “Gosh!” echoed Beaumont.

    â€œI only hope,” said Mr. Brown, “that I’m still around to see the alphabet completed.”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t you be, Uncle Brown?” asked Beaumont.
    â€œWell, I’m not as young as I was.”
    â€œYou’ll go on for a while yet, Mr. Brown,” said John.
    But he was wrong.
    One morning a few days later, Bill woke up and went into the Mousery to look at what he thought of as his “tame wild mice.” There were
two boxes on the floor now, for Bill had supplied a small one as a single room for the mouse he thought of as “Granddad.”
    In the big box Bill could see Janet suckling her newborn nine, watched by John and Beaumont. In the small box Granddad lay comfortably, having breakfast in bed. Not wanting to disturb anyone, Bill tiptoed away.
    Mr. Brown spent a lot of his time asleep, but he still had some appetite, and John and Beaumont brought him choice bits of food.
    As they had been collecting it that morning, Beaumont said, “You always call Uncle Brown ‘Mr. Brown,’ don’t you, Dad? Why don’t you use his first name?”
    â€œI don’t know it.”
    â€œCan’t you ask him?”
    â€œI don’t want to. He’d have told me if he’d wanted to.”
    I’ll ask him , thought Beaumont. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He’s nice, Uncle Brown is. He’ll tell me his first name.
    â€œUncle Brown,” said Beaumont, climbing into the small box that afternoon. “Will you tell me what your first name is? I’d like to know.”
    The old mouse did not reply.

    He has gotten a bit deaf lately , thought Beaumont, and more loudly he said, “Uncle Brown! Can you hear me?”
    But there was no answer.
    With his nose Beaumont touched the body of the old mouse. It was stone cold.

    Just then Bill came into the Mousery with some bits of cookie that he’d saved as a treat for his tame wild mice. He saw that one of the youngsters was in Granddad’s box. It looked up at him and squeaked.

    â€œHe’s dead!” cried Beaumont. “Look, giant, Uncle Brown is dead!”
    Oh dear , thought Bill as he stood and stared down. Poor old Granddad.

7

    All up and down, in both the even- and the odd-numbered houses in Simple Street, mice were being born. Mice were dying, too, in the jaws of cats or traps, or of poisoning, or simply—like Mr. Brown—of old age. But never before had a mouse been given such a funeral as Mr. Brown was.

    â€œOne thing I do know,” said Bill Black as he fed his fancy mice, “and that is, I’m not just going to chuck poor