THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM [Illustration] THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM By Eugene Field NEW YORK 1919 Copyright, 1912 by Charles Scribner's Sons Through the courtesy of Charles Scribner's Sons, we were permitted to print this small private edition. --GIFT-- [Decoration] THE MOUSE AND THE MOONBEAM Whilst you were sleeping, little Dear-my-soul, strange thingshappened; but that I saw and heard them, I should never havebelieved them. The clock stood, of course, in the corner, amoonbeam floated idly on the floor, and a little mauve mousecame from the hole in the chimney corner and frisked andscampered in the light of the moonbeam upon the floor. Thelittle mauve mouse was particularly merry; sometimes she dancedupon two legs and sometimes upon four legs, but always verydaintily and always very merrily. "Ah, me!" sighed the old clock, "how different mice are nowadaysfrom the mice we used to have in the good old times! Now therewas your grandma, Mistress Velvetpaw, and there was yourgrandpa, Master Sniffwhisker, --how grave and dignified theywere! Many a night have I seen them dancing upon the carpetbelow me, but always the stately minuet and never that crazyfrisking which you are executing now, to my surprise--yes, andto my horror, too. " "But why shouldn't I be merry?" asked the little mauve mouse. "Tomorrow is Christmas, and this is Christmas eve. " "So it is, " said the old clock. "I had really forgotten allabout it. But, tell me, what is Christmas to you, little MissMauve Mouse?" "A great deal to me!" cried the little mauve mouse. "I have beenvery good a very long time: I have not used any bad words, norhave I gnawed any holes, nor have I stolen any canary seed, norhave I worried my mother by running behind the flour-barrelwhere that horrid trap is set. In fact, I have been so good thatI am very sure Santa Claus will bring me something very pretty. " This seemed to amuse the old clock mightily; in fact the oldclock fell to laughing so heartily that in an unguarded momentshe struck twelve instead of ten, which was exceedingly carelessand therefore to be reprehended. "Why, you silly little mauve mouse, " said the old clock, "youdon't believe in Santa Claus, do you?" "Of course I do, " answered the little mauve mouse. "Believe inSanta Claus? Why shouldn't I? Didn't Santa Claus bring me abeautiful butter-cracker last Christmas, and a lovelygingersnap, and a delicious rind of cheese, and--and--lots ofthings? I should be very ungrateful if I did _not_ believe inSanta Claus, and I certainly shall not disbelieve in him at thevery moment when I am expecting him to arrive with a bundle ofgoodies for me. "I once had a little sister, " continued the little mauve mouse, "who did not believe in Santa Claus, and the very thought of thefate that befell her makes my blood run cold and my whiskersstand on end. She died before I was born, but my mother has toldme all about her. Perhaps you never saw her: her name wasSqueaknibble, and she was in stature one of those long, low, rangy mice that are seldom found in well-stocked pantries. Mother says that Squeaknibble took after our ancestors who camefrom New England, where the malignant ingenuity of the peopleand the ferocity of the cats rendered life precarious indeed. Squeaknibble seemed to inherit many ancestral traits, the mostconspicuous of which was a disposition to sneer at some of themost respected dogmas in mousedom. From her very infancy shedoubted, for example, the widely accepted theory that the moonwas composed of green cheese; and this heresy was the firstintimation her parents had of the sceptical turn of her mind. Of course her parents were vastly annoyed, for their maturernatures saw that this youthful scepticism portended serious, if not fatal, consequences. Yet all in vain did the sagaciouscouple reason and plead with their headstrong and hereticalchild. "For a long time Squeaknibble would not believe that there wasany such archfiend as a cat; but she came to be convinced to thecontrary one memorable night, on which occasion she lost twoinches of her beautiful tail, and received so terrible a frightthat for fully an hour afterward her little heart beat soviolently as to lift her off her feet and bump her head againstthe top of our domestic hole. The cat that deprived my sister ofso large a percentage of her vertebral colophon was the samebrindled ogress that nowadays steals ever and anon into thisroom, crouches treacherously behind the sofa, and feigns to beasleep, hoping, forsooth, that some of us, heedless of her hatedpresence, will venture within reach of her diabolical claws. Soenraged was this ferocious monster at the escape of my sisterthat she ground her fangs viciously together, and vowed to takeno pleasure in life until she held in her devouring jaws theinnocent little mouse which belonged to the mangled bit of tailshe even then clutched in her remorseless claws. " "Yes, " said the old clock, "now that you recall the incident, I recollect it well. I was here then, in this very corner, andI remember that I laughed at the cat and chided her for herawkwardness. My reproaches irritated her; she told me that aclock's duty was to run itself down, _not_ to be depreciatingthe merits of others! Yes, I recall the time; that cat's tongueis fully as sharp as her claws. " "Be that as it may, " said the little mauve mouse, "it is amatter of history, and therefore beyond dispute, that from thatvery moment the cat pined for Squeaknibble's life; it seemed asif that one little two-inch taste of Squeaknibble's tail hadfilled the cat with a consuming passion, or appetite, for therest of Squeaknibble. So the cat waited and watched and huntedand schemed and devised and did everything possible for a cat--acruel cat--to do in order to gain her murderous ends. Onenight--one fatal Christmas eve--our mother had undressed thechildren for bed, and was urging upon them to go to sleepearlier than usual, since she fully expected that Santa Clauswould bring each of them something very palatable and nicebefore morning. Thereupon the little dears whisked their cunningtails, pricked up their beautiful ears, and began telling oneanother what they hoped Santa Claus would bring. One asked for aslice of Roquefort, another for Neufchatel, another for SapSago, and a fourth for Edam; one expressed a preference for deBrie, while another hoped to get Parmesan; one clamored forimperial blue Stilton, and another craved the fragrant boon ofCaprera. There were fourteen little ones then, and consequentlythere were diverse opinions as to the kind of gift which SantaClaus should best bring; still, there was, as you can readilyunderstand, an enthusiastic unanimity upon this point, namely, that the gift should be cheese of some brand or other. "'My dears, ' said our mother, 'what matters it whether the boonwhich Santa Claus brings be royal English cheddar or fromage deBricquebec, Vermont sage, or Herkimer County skim-milk? Weshould be content with whatsoever Santa Claus bestows, so longas it be cheese, disjoined from all traps whatsoever, unmixedwith Paris green, and free from glass, strychnine, and otherharmful ingredients. As for myself, I shall be satisfied with acut of nice, fresh, Western reserve; for truly I recognise in noother viand or edible half the fragrance or half the gustfulnessto be met with in one of these pale but aromatic domesticproducts. So run away to your dreams now, that Santa Claus mayfind you sleeping. ' "The children obeyed, --all but Squeaknibble. 'Let the othersthink what they please, ' said she, 'but I don't believe in SantaClaus. I'm not going to bed either. I'm going to creep out ofthis dark hole and have a quiet romp, all by myself, in themoonlight. ' Oh, what a vain, foolish, wicked little mouse wasSqueaknibble! But I will not reproach the dead; her punishmentcame all too swiftly. Now listen: who do you suppose overheardher talking so disrespectfully of Santa Claus?" "Why, Santa Claus himself, " said the old clock. "Oh, no, " answered the little mauve mouse. "It was that wicked, murderous cat! Just as Satan lurks and lies in wait for badchildren, so does the cruel cat lie in wait for naughty littlemice. And you can depend upon it that, when that awful cat heardSqueaknibble speak so disrespectfully of Santa Claus, her wickedeyes glowed with joy, her sharp teeth watered, and her bristlingfur emitted electric sparks as big as marrowfat peas. Then whatdid that blood-thirsty monster do but scuttle as fast as shecould into Dear-my-Soul's room, leap up into Dear-my-Soul'scrib, and walk off with the pretty little white muff whichDear-my-Soul used to wear when she went for a visit to thelittle girl in the next block! What upon earth did the horridold cat want with Dear-my-Soul's pretty little white muff? Ah, the duplicity, the diabolical ingenuity of that cat! Listen. "In the first place, " resumed the little mauve mouse, aftera pause that testified eloquently to the depth of heremotion, --"in the first place, that wretched cat dressed herselfup in that pretty little white muff, by which you are tounderstand that she crawled through the muff just so far as toleave her four cruel legs at liberty. " "Yes, I understand, " said the old clock. "Then she put on the boy doll's fur cap, " said the little mauvemouse, "and when she was arrayed in the boy doll's fur cap andDear-my-Soul's pretty little white muff, of course she didn'tlook like a cruel cat at all. But whom did she look like?" "Like the boy doll, " suggested the old clock. "No, no!" cried the little mauve mouse. "Like Dear-my-Soul?" asked the old clock. "How stupid you are!" exclaimed the little mauve mouse. "Why, she looked like Santa Claus, of course!" "Oh, yes; I see, " said the old clock. "Now I begin to beinterested; go on. " "Alas!" sighed the little mauve mouse, "not much remains to betold; but there is more of my story left than there was ofSqueaknibble when that horrid cat crawled out of that miserabledisguise. You are to understand that, contrary to her sagaciousmother's injunction, and in notorious derision of the mootedcoming of Santa Claus, Squeaknibble issued from the friendlyhole in the chimney corner, and gambolled about over this verycarpet, and, I dare say, in this very moonlight. " "I do not know, " said the moonbeam faintly. "I am so very old, and I have seen so many things--I do not know. " "Right merrily was Squeaknibble gambolling, " continued thelittle mauve mouse, "and she had just turned a double backsomersault without the use of what remained of her tail when, all of a sudden, she beheld, looming up like a monster ghost, afigure all in white fur! Oh, how frightened she was, and how herlittle heart did beat! 'Purr, purr-r-r, ' said the ghost in whitefur. 'Oh, please don't hurt me!' pleaded Squeaknibble. 'No; I'llnot hurt you, ' said the ghost in white fur; 'I'm Santa Claus, and I've brought you a beautiful piece of savory old cheese, you dear little mousie, you. ' Poor Squeaknibble was deceived;a sceptic all her life, she was at last befooled by the mostpalpable and most fatal of frauds. 'How good of you!' saidSqueaknibble. 'I didn't believe there was a Santa Claus, and--'but before she could say more she was seized by two sharp, cruelclaws that conveyed her crushed body to the murderous mouth ofmousedom's most malignant foe. I can dwell no longer upon thisharrowing scene. Suffice it to say that ere the morrow's sunrose like a big yellow Herkimer County cheese upon the spotwhere that tragedy had been enacted, poor Squeaknibble passed tothat bourn whence two inches of her beautiful tail had precededher by the space of three weeks to a day. As for Santa Claus, when he came that Christmas eve, bringing morceaux de Brie andof Stilton for the other little mice, he heard with sorrow ofSqueaknibble's fate; and ere he departed he said that in all hisexperience he had never known of a mouse or of a child that hadprospered after once saying that he didn't believe in SantaClaus. " "Well, that is a remarkable story, " said the old clock. "But ifyou believe in Santa Claus, why aren't you in bed?" "That's where I shall be presently, " answered the little mauvemouse, "but I must have my scamper you know. It is verypleasant, I assure you, to frolic in the light of the moon; onlyI cannot understand why you are always so cold and so solemn andso still, you pale, pretty little moonbeam. " "Indeed, I do not know that I am so, " said the moonbeam. "But Iam very old, and I have travelled many, many, leagues, and Ihave seen wondrous things. Sometimes I toss upon the ocean, sometimes I fall upon a slumbering flower, sometimes I rest upona dead child's face. I see the fairies at their play, and I hearmothers singing lullabies. Last night I swept across the frozenbosom of a river. A woman's face looked up at me; it was thepicture of eternal rest. 'She is sleeping, ' said the frozenriver. 'I'll rock her to and fro, and sing to her. Pass gentlyby, O moonbeam; pass gently by, lest you awaken her. '" "How strangely you talk, " said the old clock. "Now, I'll warrantme that, if you wanted to, you could tell many a pretty andwonderful story. You must know many a Christmas tale; pray, tellus one to wear away this night of Christmas watching. " "I know but one, " said the moonbeam. "I have told it over andover again, in every land and in every home; yet I do not wearyof it. It is very simple. Should you like to hear it?" "Indeed we should, " said the old clock; "but before you begin, let me strike twelve; for I shouldn't want to interrupt you. " When the old clock had performed this duty with somewhat morethan usual alacrity, the moonbeam began its story: "Upon a time--so long ago that I can't tell how long ago itwas--I fell upon a hill-side. It was in a far distant country;this I know, because, although it was the Christmas time, it wasnot in that country as it is wont to be in countries to thenorth. Hither the snow-king never came; flowers bloomed all theyear, and at all times the lambs found pleasant pasturage on thehill-sides. The night wind was balmy, and there was a fragranceof cedar in its breath. There were violets on the hill-side, and I fell amongst them and lay there. I kissed them, and theyawakened. 'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' they said, and theynestled in the grass which the lambs had left uncropped. "A shepherd lay upon a broad stone on the hill-side; above himspread an olive-tree, old, ragged, and gloomy; but now it swayedits rusty branches majestically in the shifting air of night. The shepherd's name was Benoni. Wearied with long watching, hehad fallen asleep; his crook had slipped from his hand. Upon thehill-side, too, slept the shepherd's flock. I had counted themagain and again; I had stolen across their gentle faces andbrought them pleasant dreams of green pastures and of coolwater-brooks. I had kissed old Benoni, too, as he lay slumberingthere; and in his dreams he seemed to see Israel's King comeupon earth, and in his dreams he murmured the promised Messiah'sname. "'Ah, is it you, little moonbeam?' quoth the violets. 'You havecome in good time. Nestle here with us, and see wonderful thingscome to pass. ' "'What are these wonderful things of which you speak?' I asked. "'We heard the old olive-tree telling of them to-night, ' saidthe violets. 'Do not go to sleep, little violets, ' said the oldolive-tree, 'for this is Christmas night, and the Master shallwalk upon the hill-side in the glory of the midnight hour. ' Sowe waited and watched; one by one the lambs fell asleep; one byone the stars peeped out; the shepherd nodded and crooned, andcrooned and nodded, and at last he, too, went fast asleep, andhis crook slipped from his keeping. Then we called to the oldolive-tree yonder, asking how soon the midnight hour would come;but all the old olive-tree answered was 'Presently, presently, 'and finally we, too, fell asleep, wearied by our long watching, and lulled by the rocking and swaying of the old olive-tree inthe breezes of the night. "'But who is this Master?' I asked. "'A child, a little child, ' they answered. 'He is called thelittle Master by the others. He comes here often, and playsamong the flowers of the hill-side. Sometimes the lambs, gambolling too carelessly, have crushed and bruised us so thatwe lie bleeding and are like to die; but the little Master healsour wounds and refreshes us once again. ' "I marvelled much to hear these things. 'The midnight hour is athand, ' said I, 'and I will abide with you to see this littleMaster of whom you speak. ' So we nestled among the verdure ofthe hill-side, and sang songs one to another. "'Come away!' called the night wind; 'I know a beauteous sea notfar hence, upon whose bosom you shall float, float, float, awayout into the mists and clouds, if you will come with me. ' "But I hid under the violets and amid the tall grass, that thenight wind might not woo me with its pleading. 'Ho, there, oldolive-tree!' cried the violets; 'do you see the little Mastercoming? Is not the midnight hour at hand?' "'I can see the town yonder, ' said the old olive-tree. 'A starbeams bright over Bethlehem, the iron gates swing open, and thelittle Master comes. ' "Two children came to the hill-side. The one, older than hiscomrade, was Dimas, the son of Benoni. He was rugged and sinewy, and over his brown shoulders was flung a goat-skin; a leatherncap did not confine his long, dark curly hair. The other childwas he whom they called the little Master; about his slenderform clung raiment white as snow, and around his face ofheavenly innocence fell curls of golden yellow. So beautiful achild I had not seen before, nor have I ever since seen such ashe. And as they came together to the hill-side, there seemed toglow about the little Master's head a soft white light, as ifthe moon had sent its tenderest, fairest beams to kiss thosegolden curls. "'What sound was that?' cried Dimas, for he was exceedingfearful. "'Have no fear, Dimas, ' said the little Master. 'Give me thyhand and I will lead thee. ' "Presently they came to the rock whereon Benoni, the shepherd, lay; and they stood under the old olive-tree, and the oldolive-tree swayed no longer in the night wind, but bent itsbranches reverently in the presence of the little Master. Itseemed as if the wind, too, stayed in its shifting course justthen; for suddenly there was a solemn hush, and you could hearno noise, except that in his dreams Benoni spoke the Messiah'sname. "'Thy father sleeps, ' said the little Master, 'and it is wellthat it is so; for that I love thee Dimas, and that thou shaltwalk with me in my Father's Kingdom, I would show thee theglories of my birthright. ' "Then all at once sweet music filled the air, and light, greaterthan the light of day, illumined the sky and fell upon all thathill-side. The heavens opened, and angels, singing joyous songs, walked to the earth. More wondrous still, the stars, fallingfrom their places in the sky, clustered upon the old olive-tree, and swung hither and thither like colored lanterns. The flowersof the hill-side all awakened, and they, too, danced and sang. The angels, coming hither, hung gold and silver and jewels andprecious stones upon the old olive, where swung the stars; sothat the glory of that sight, though I might live forever, Ishall never see again. When Dimas heard and saw these things hefell upon his knees, and catching the hem of the little Master'sgarment, he kissed it. "'Greater joy than this shall be thine, Dimas, ' said the littleMaster; 'but first must all things be fulfilled. ' "All through that Christmas night did the angels come and gowith their sweet anthems; all through that Christmas night didthe stars dance and sing; and when it came my time to stealaway, the hill-side was still beautiful with the glory and themusic of heaven. " "Well, is that all?" asked the old clock. "No, " said the moonbeam; "but I am nearly done. The years wenton. Sometimes I tossed upon the ocean's bosom, sometimes Iscampered o'er a battle-field, sometimes I lay upon a deadchild's face. I heard the voices of Darkness and mothers'lullabies and sick men's prayers--and so the years went on. "I fell one night upon a hard and furrowed face. It was ofghostly pallor. A thief was dying on the cross, and this was hiswretched face. About the cross stood men with staves and swordsand spears, but none paid heed unto the thief. Somewhat beyondthis cross another was lifted up, and upon it was stretched ahuman body my light fell not upon. But I heard a voice thatsomewhere I had heard before, --though where I did not know, --andthis voice blessed those that railed and jeered and shamefullyentreated. And suddenly the voice called 'Dimas, Dimas!' and thethief upon whose hardened face I rested made answer. "Then I saw that it was Dimas; yet to this wicked criminal thereremained but little of the shepherd child whom I had seen in allhis innocence upon the hill-side. Long years of sinful life hadseared their marks into his face; yet now, at the sound of thatfamiliar voice, somewhat of the old-time boyish look came back, and in the yearning of the anguished eyes I seemed to see theshepherd's son again. "'The Master!' cried Dimas, and he stretched forth his neck thathe might see him that spake. "'O Dimas, how art thou changed!' cried the Master, yet therewas in his voice no tone of rebuke save that which cometh oflove. "Then Dimas wept, and in that hour he forgot his pain. And theMaster's consoling voice and the Master's presence there wroughtin the dying criminal such a new spirit, that when at last hishead fell upon his bosom, and the men about the cross said thathe was dead, it seemed as if I shined not upon a felon's face, but upon the face of the gentle shepherd lad, the son of Benoni. "And shining on that dead and peaceful face, I bethought me ofthe little Master's words that he had spoken under the oldolive-tree upon the hill-side: 'Your eyes behold the promisedglory now, O Dimas, ' I whispered, 'for with the Master you walkin Paradise. '" Ah, little Dear-my-Soul, you know--you know whereof the moonbeamspake. The shepherd's bones are dust, the flocks are scattered, the old olive-tree is gone, the flowers of the hill-side arewithered, and none knoweth where the grave of Dimas is made. Butlast night, again, there shined a star over Bethlehem, and theangels descended from the sky to earth, and the stars sangtogether in glory. And the bells, --hear them, littleDear-my-Soul, how sweetly they are ringing, --the bells bear usthe good tidings of great joy this Christmas morning, that ourChrist is born, and that with him he bringeth peace on earth andgood-will toward men.