All that night long Simpkin hunted and searched through the kitchen,
peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot, and into the tea-pot where
he had hidden that twist; but still he found never a mouse!
Whenever the tailor muttered and talked in his sleep, Simpkin said
"Miaw-ger-r-w-s-s-ch!" and made strange horrid noises, as cats do at
night.
[Illustration]
For the poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning in
his four-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled--"No more twist! no
more twist!"
All that day he was ill, and the next day, and the next; and what should
become of the cherry-coloured coat? In the tailor's shop in Westgate
Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon the
table--one-and-twenty button-holes--and who should come to sew them, when
the window was barred, and the door was fast locked?
But that does not hinder the little brown mice; they run in and out
without any keys through all the old houses in Gloucester!
[Illustration]
Out of doors the market folks went trudging through the snow to buy their
geese and turkeys, and to bake their Christmas pies; but there would be no
Christmas dinner for Simpkin and the poor old Tailor of Gloucester.
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