"Ah, me!" sighed the old clock, "how different mice are nowadays from the
mice we used to have in the good old times! Now there was your grandma,
Mistress Velvetpaw, and there was your grandpa, Master Sniffwhisker,--how
grave and dignified they were! Many a night have I seen them dancing upon
the carpet below me, but always the stately minuet and never that crazy
frisking which you are executing now, to my surprise--yes, and to my
horror, too."

"But why shouldn't I be merry?" asked the little mauve mouse. "To-morrow
is Christmas, and this is Christmas eve."

"So it is," said the old clock. "I had really forgotten all about it. But,
tell me, what is Christmas to you, little Miss Mauve Mouse?"

"A great deal to me!" cried the little mauve mouse. "I have been very good
a very long time: I have not used any bad words, nor have I gnawed any
holes, nor have I stolen any canary seed, nor have I worried my mother by
running behind the flour-barrel where that horrid trap is set. In fact, I
have been so good that I'm very sure Santa Claus will bring me something
very pretty."

This seemed to amuse the old clock mightily; in fact, the old clock fell
to laughing so heartily that in an unguarded moment she struck twelve
instead of ten, which was exceedingly careless and therefore to be
reprehended.

"Why, you silly little mauve mouse," said the old clock, "you don't
believe in Santa Claus, do you?"

"Of course I do," answered the little mauve mouse. "Believe in Santa