oak…maiden。　She　uttered　a　terrible　scream　when　she　caught　sight　of
  me　so　near　to　her；　like　many　women；　she　was　very　much　afraid　of
  mice。　And　she　had　more　real　cause　for　fear　than　they　have；　for　I　might
  have　gnawed　through　the　tree　on　which　her　life　depended。　I　spoke　to
  her　in　a　kind　and　friendly　manner；　and　begged　her　to　take　courage。
  At　last　she　took　me　up　in　her　delicate　hand；　and　then　I　told　her
  what　had　brought　me　out　into　the　world；　and　she　promised　me　that
  perhaps　on　that　very　evening　she　should　be　able　to　obtain　for　me　one
  of　the　two　treasures　for　which　I　was　seeking。　She　told　me　that
  Phantaesus　was　her　very　dear　friend；　that　he　was　as　beautiful　as　the
  god　of　love；　that　he　remained　often　for　many　hours　with　her　under
  the　leafy　boughs　of　the　tree　which　then　rustled　and　waved　more　than
  ever　over　them　both。　He　called　her　his　dryad；　she　said；　and　the　tree
  his　tree；　for　the　grand　old　oak；　with　its　gnarled　trunk；　was　just　to
  his　taste。　The　root；　spreading　deep　into　the　earth；　the　top　rising
  high　in　the　fresh　air；　knew　the　value　of　the　drifted　snow；　the　keen
  wind；　and　the　warm　sunshine；　as　it　ought　to　be　known。　'Yes；'　continued
  the　dryad；　'the　birds　sing　up　above　in　the　branches；　and　talk　to
  each　other　about　the　beautiful　fields　they　have　visited　in　foreign
  lands；　and　on　one　of　the　withered　boughs　a　stork　has　built　his
  nest；…　it　is　beautifully　arranged；　and　besides　it　is　pleasant　to
  hear　a　little　about　the　land　of　the　pyramids。　All　this　pleases
  Phantaesus；　but　it　is　not　enough　for　him；　I　am　obliged　to　relate　to
  him　of　my　life　in　the　woods；　and　to　go　back　to　my　childhood；　when　I
  was　little；　and　the　tree　so　small　and　delicate　that　a
  stinging…nettle　could　overshadow　it；　and　I　have　to　tell　everything
  that　has　happened　since　then　till　now　that　the　tree　is　so　large　and
  strong。　Sit　you　down　now　under　the　green　bindwood　and　pay　attention；
  when　Phantaesus　comes　I　will　find　an　opportunity　to　lay　hold　of　his
  wing　and　to　pull　out　one　of　the　little　feathers。　That　feather　you
  shall　have；　a　better　was　never　given　to　any　poet；　it　will　be　quite
  enough　for　you。'
  〃And　when　Phantaesus　came　the　feather　was　plucked；　and；〃　said
  the　little　mouse；　〃I　seized　and　put　it　in　water；　and　kept　it　there
  till　it　was　quite　soft。　It　was　very　heavy　and　indigestible；　but　I
  managed　to　nibble　it　up　at　last。　It　is　not　so　easy　to　nibble　one's
  self　into　a　poet；　there　are　so　many　things　to　get　through。　Now；
  however；　I　had　two　of　them；　understanding　and　imagination；　and　through
  these　I　knew　that　the　third　was　to　be　found　in　the　library。　A　great
  man　has　said　and　written　that　there　are　novels　whose　sole　and　only　use
  appeared　to　be　that　they　might　relieve　mankind　of　overflowing　tears…　a
  kind　of　sponge；　in　fact；　for　sucking　up　feelings　and　emotions。　I
  remembered　a　few　of　these　books；　they　had　always　appeared　tempting
  to　the　appetite；　they　had　been　much　read；　and　were　so　greasy；　that
  they　must　have　absorbed　no　end　of　emotions　in　themselves。　I　retraced
  my　steps　to　the　library；　and　literally　devoured　a　whole　novel；　that
  is；　properly　speaking；　the　interior　or　soft　part　of　it；　the　crust；
  or　binding；　I　left。　When　I　had　digested　not　only　this；　but　a　second；　I
  felt　a　stirring　within　me；　then　I　ate　a　small　piece　of　a　third
  romance；　and　felt　myself　a　poet。　I　said　it　to　myself；　and　told
  others　the　same。　I　had　head…ache　and　back…ache；　and　I　cannot　tell　what
  aches　besides。　I　thought　over　all　the　stories　that　may　be　said　to　be
  connected　with　sausage　pegs；　and　all　that　has　ever　been　written
  about　skewers；　and　sticks；　and　staves；　and　splinters　came　to　my
  thoughts；　the　ant…queen　must　have　had　a　wonderfully　clear
  understanding。　I　remembered　the　man　who　placed　a　white　stick　in　his
  mouth　by　which　he　could　make　himself　and　the　stick　invisible。　I
  thought　of　sticks　as　hobby…horses；　staves　of　music　or　rhyme；　of
  breaking　a　stick　over　a　man's　back；　and　heaven　knows　how　many　more
  phrases　of　the　same　sort　relating　to　sticks；　staves；　and　skewers。
  All　my　thoughts　rein　on　skewers；　sticks　of　wood；　and　staves；　and　as
  I　am；　at　last；　a　poet；　and　I　have　worked　terribly　hard　to　make
  myself　one；　I　can　of　course　make　poetry　on　anything。　I　shall　therefore
  be　able　to　wait　upon　you　every　day　in　the　week　with　a　poetical　history
  of　a　skewer。　And　that　is　my　soup。〃
  〃In　that　case；〃　said　the　mouse…king；　〃we　will　hear　what　the
  third　mouse　has　to　say。〃
  〃Squeak；　squeak；〃　cried　a　little　mouse　at　the　kitchen　door；　it　was
  the　fourth；　and　not　the　third；　of　the　four　who　were　contending　for　the
  prize；　one　whom　the　rest　supposed　to　be　dead。　She　shot　in　like　an
  arrow；　and　overturned　the　sausage　peg　that　had　been　covered　with
  crape。　She　had　been　running　day　and　night。　She　had　watched　an
  opportunity　to　get　into　a　goods　train；　and　had　travelled　by　the
  railway；　and　yet　she　had　arrived　almost　too　late。　She　pressed　forward；
  looking　very　much　ruffled。　She　had　lost　her　sausage　skewer；　but　not
  her　voice；　for　she　began　to　speak　at　once　as　if　they　only　waited　for
  her；　and　would　hear　her　only；　and　as　if　nothing　else　in　the　world
  was　of　the　least　consequence。　She　spoke　out　so　clearly　and　plainly；
  and　she　had　come　in　so　suddenly；　that　no　one　had　time　to　stop　her　or
  to　say　a　word　while　she　was　speaking。　And　now　let　us　hear　what　she
  said。
  WHAT　THE　FOURTH　MOUSE；　WHO　SPOKE
  BEFORE　THE　THIRD；　HAD　TO　TELL
  〃I　started　off　at　once　to　the　largest　town；〃　said　she；　〃but　the
  name　of　it　has　escaped　me。　I　have　a　very　bad　memory　for　names。　I　was
  carried　from　the　railway；　with　some　forfeited　goods；　to　the　jail；
  and　on　arriving　I　made　my　escape；　and　ran　into　the　house　of　the
  turnkey。　The　turnkey　was　speaking　of　his　prisoners；　especially　of
  one　who　had　uttered　thoughtless　words。　These　words　had　given　rise　to
  other　words；　and　at　length　they　were　written　down　and　registered：　'The
  whole　affair　is　like　making　soup　of　sausage　skewers；'　said　he；　'but
  the　soup　may　cost　him　his　neck。'
  〃Now　this　raised　in　me　an　interest　for　the　prisoner；〃　continued
  the　little　mouse；　〃and　I　watched　my　opportunity；　and　slipped　into
  his　apartment；　for　there　is　a　mouse…hole　to　be　found　behind　every
  closed　door。　The　prisoner　looked　pale；　he　had　a　great　beard　and　large；
  sparkling　eyes。　There　was　a　lamp　burning；　but　the　walls　were　so
  black　that　they　only　looked　the　blacker　for　it。　The　prisoner　scratched
  pictures　and　verses　with　white　chalk　on　the　black　walls；　but　I　did　not
  read　the　verses。　I　think　he　found　his　confinement　wearisome；　so　that　I
  was　a　welcome　guest。　He　enticed　me　with　bread…crumbs；　with
  whistling；　and　with　gentle　words；　and　seemed　so　friendly　towards　me；
  that　by　degrees　I　gained　confidence　in　him；　and　we　became　friends；
  he　divided　his　bread　and　water　with　me；　gave　me　cheese　and　sausage；
  and　I　really　began　to　love　him。　Altogether；　I　must　own　that　it　was　a
  very　pleasant　intimacy。　He　let　me　run　about　on　his　hand；　and　on　his
  arm；　and　into　his　sleeve；　and　I　even　crept　into　his　beard；　and　he
  called　me　his　little　friend。　I　forgot　what　I　had　come　out　into　the
  world　for；　forgot　my　sausage　skewer　which　I　had　laid　in　a　crack　in　the
  floor…　it　is　lying　there　still。　I　wished　to　stay　with　him　always　where
  I　was；　for　I　knew　that　if　I　went　away　the　poor　prisoner　would　have
  no　one　to　be　his　friend；　which　is　a　sad　thing。　I　stayed；　but　he　did
  not。　He　spoke　to　me　so　mournfully　for　the　last　time；　gave　me　double　as
  much　bread　and　cheese　as　usual；　and　kissed　his　hand　to　me。　Then　he
  went　away；　and　never　came　back。　I　know　nothing　more　of　his　history。
  〃The　jailer　took　possession　of　me　now。　He　said　something　about
  soup　from　a　sausage　skewer；　but　I　could　not　trust　him。　He　took　me　in
  his　hand　certainly；　but　it　was　to　place　me　in　a　cage　like　a
  tread…mill。　Oh　how　dreadful　it　was！　I　had　to　run　round　and　round
  without　getting　any　farther　in　advance；　and　only　to　make　everybody
  laugh。　The　jailer's　grand…daughter　was　a　charming　little　thing。　She
  had　curly　hair　like　the　brightest　gold；　merry　eyes；　and　such　a　smiling
  mouth。
  〃'You　poor　little　mouse；'　said　she；　one　day　as　she　peeped　into
  my　cage；　'I　will　set　you　free。'　She　then　drew　forth　the　iron
  fastening；　and　I　sprang　out　on　the　window…sill；　and　from　thence　to　the
  roof。　Free！　free！　that　was　all　I　could　think　of；　not　of　the　object
  of　my　journey。　It　grew　dark；　and　as　night　was　coming　on　I　found　a
  lodging　in　an　old　tower；　where　dwelt　a　watchman　and　an　owl。　I　had　no
  confidence　in　either　of　them；　least　of　all　in　the　owl；　which　is　like　a
  cat；　and　has　a　great　failing；　for　she　eats　mice。　One　may　however　be
  mistaken　sometimes；　and　so　was　I；　for　this　was　a　respectable　and
  well…educated　old　owl；　who　knew　more　than　the　watchman；　and　even　as
  much　as　I　did　myself。　The　young　owls　made　a　great　fuss　about
  everything；　but　the　only　rough　words　she　would　say　to　them　were；
  'You　had　better　go　and　make　some　soup　from　sausage　skewers。'　She　was
  very　indulgent　and　loving　to　her　children。　Her　conduct　gave　me　such
  confidence　in　her；　that　from　the　crack　where　I　sat　I　called　out
  'squeak。'　This　confidence　of　mine　pleased　her　so　much　that　she　assured
  me　she　would　take　me　under　h