Once upon a time there was a wood-mouse, and her name was Mrs. Tittlemouse. She lived in a bank under a hedge. Such a funny house! There were yards and yards of sandy passages, leading to storerooms and nut-cellars and seed-cellars, all amongst the roots of the hedge. There was a kitchen, a parlour, a pantry, and a larder. Also, there was Mrs. Tittlemouse's bedroom, where she slept in a little box bed!
Mrs. Tittlemouse was a most terribly tidy particular little mouse, always sweeping and dusting the soft sandy floors.
Sometimes a beetle lost its way in the passages.
“Shuh! shuh! little dirty feet!” said Mrs. Tittlemouse, clattering her dust-pan.
And one day a little old woman ran up and down in a red spotty cloak.
“Your house is on fire, Mother Ladybird! Fly away home to your children!”
Another day, a big fat spider came in to shelter from the rain.
“Beg pardon, is this not Miss Muffet's?”
“Go away, you bold bad spider! Leaving ends of cobweb all over my nice clean house!”
She bundled the spider out at a window.
He let himself down the hedge with a long thin bit of string.
Mrs. Tittlemouse went on her way to a distant storeroom, to fetch cherry-stones and thistle-down seed for dinner. All along the passage she sniffed, and looked at the floor.
“I smell a smell of honey; is it the cowslips outside, in the hedge?
“I am sure I can see the marks of little dirty feet.”
Suddenly round a corner, she met Babbitty Bumble—“Zizz, Bizz, Bizzz!” said the bumble bee. Mrs. Tittlemouse looked at her severely. She wished that she had a broom.
“Good-day, Babbitty Bumble; I should be glad to buy some beeswax. But what are you doing down here? Why do you always come in at a window, and say Zizz, Bizz, Bizzz?” Mrs. Tittlemouse began to get cross.
“Zizz, Wizz, Wizz!” replied Babbitty Bumble in a peevish squeak. She sidled down a passage, and disappeared into a storeroom which had been used for acorns.
Mrs. Tittlemouse had eaten the acorns before Christmas; the storeroom ought to have been empty. But it was full of untidy dry moss. Mrs. Tittlemouse began to pull out the moss. Three or four other bees put their heads out, and buzzed fiercely.
“I am not in the habit of letting lodgings; this is an intrusion!” said Mrs. Tittlemouse. “I will have them turned out—”
“Buzz! Buzz! Buzzz!”—
“I wonder who would help me?”
“Bizz, Wizz, Wizzz!”—
“I will not have Mr. Jackson; he never wipes his feet.”
Mrs. Tittlemouse decided to leave the bees till after dinner. When she got back to the parlour, she heard some one coughing in a fat voice; and there sat Mr. Jackson himself! He was sitting all over a small rocking-chair, twiddling his thumbs and smiling, with his feet on the fender. He lived in a drain below the hedge, in a very dirty wet ditch.
“How do you do, Mr. Jackson? Deary me, you have got very wet!”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! I'll sit awhile and dry myself,” said Mr. Jackson. He sat and smiled, and the water dripped off his coat tails. Mrs. Tittlemouse went round with a mop.
He sat such a while that he had to be asked if he would take some dinner? First she offered him cherry-stones. “Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! No teeth, no teeth, no teeth!” said Mr. Jackson. He opened his mouth most unnecessarily wide; he certainly had not a tooth in his head.
Then she offered him thistle-down seed—
“Tiddly, widdly, widdly! Pouff, pouff, puff!” said Mr. Jackson. He blew the thistle-down all over the room.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mrs. Tittlemouse! Now what I really—really should like—would be a little dish of honey!”
“I am afraid I have not got any, Mr. Jackson,” said Mrs. Tittlemouse.
“Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs. Tittlemouse!” said the smiling Mr. Jackson. “I can smell it; that is why I came to call.”
Mr. Jackson rose ponderously from the table, and began to look into the cupboards. Mrs. Tittlemouse followed him with a dish-cloth, to wipe his large wet footmarks off the parlour floor. When he had convinced himself that there was no honey in the cupboards, he began to walk down the passage.
“Indeed, indeed, you will stick fast, Mr. Jackson!”
“Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs. Tittlemouse!”
First he squeezed into the pantry.
“Tiddly, widdly, widdly? no honey? no honey, Mrs. Tittlemouse?”
There were three creepy-crawly people hiding in the plate-rack. Two of them got away; but the littlest one he caught. Then he squeezed into the larder. Miss Butterfly was tasting the sugar; but she flew away out of the window.
“Tiddly, widdly, widdly, Mrs. Tittlemouse; you seem to have plenty of visitors!”
“And without any invitation!” said Mrs. Thomasina Tittlemouse.
They went along the sandy passage—“Tiddly widdly—”
“Buzz! Wizz! Wizz!”
He met Babbitty round a corner, and snapped her up, and put her down again.
“I do not like bumble bees. They are all over bristles,” said Mr. Jackson, wiping his mouth with his coat-sleeve.
“Get out, you nasty old toad!” shrieked Babbitty Bumble.
“I shall go distracted!” scolded Mrs. Tittlemouse. She shut herself up in the nut-cellar while Mr. Jackson pulled out the bees-nest. He seemed to have no objection to stings.
When Mrs. Tittlemouse ventured to come out—everybody had gone away. But the untidiness was something dreadful—“Never did I see such a mess—smears of honey; and moss, and thistle-down—and marks of big and little dirty feet—all over my nice clean house!”
She gathered up the moss and the remains of the beeswax. Then she went out and fetched some twigs, to partly close up the front door.
“I will make it too small for Mr. Jackson!”
She fetched soft soap, and flannel, and a new scrubbing brush from the storeroom. But she was too tired to do any more. First she fell asleep in her chair, and then she went to bed.
“Will it ever be tidy again?” said poor Mrs. Tittlemouse.
Next morning she got up very early and began a spring cleaning which lasted a fortnight. She swept, and scrubbed, and dusted; and she rubbed up the furniture with beeswax, and polished her little tin spoons. When it was all beautifully neat and clean, she gave a party to five other little mice, without Mr. Jackson.
He smelt the party and came up the bank, but he could not squeeze in at the door. So they handed him out acorn-cupfuls of honeydew through the window, and he was not at all offended.
He sat outside in the sun, and said—“Tiddly, widdly, widdly! Your very good health, Mrs. Tittlemouse!”
THE END
從前,有一只林鼠,名叫小小鼠太太,她住在樹籬下面的一道土壟里。她的房子非常有意思。她在沙子中挖了長長的通道,通向儲藏室、堅果地窖和種子地窖,這些全在樹籬的根部。這房子里面還有廚房、客廳、餐具室和食品儲藏室。另外,還有小小鼠太太的臥室,她睡在一張小小的箱子形狀的床里。
小小鼠太太是個格外愛整潔的小老鼠,她總是打掃軟軟的沙子地板。
有時候,會有一只甲蟲在走廊里迷路。
“走開!走開!小臟腳!”小小鼠太太會敲著她的簸箕說。
一天,一個穿著紅色波點斗篷的老婦人在小小鼠太太家爬上爬下。
“你家房子著火啦,瓢蟲媽媽!快點飛回家找你的孩子去吧?!?/p>
另一天,一只很大很肥的蜘蛛來到這里躲雨。
“抱歉,這難道不是瑪菲小姐的家嗎?”
“一邊兒去,你這個膽大包天的壞蜘蛛!你把我干凈整潔的房子弄得到處都是蜘蛛網(wǎng)!”
她把蜘蛛趕出了窗戶。
蜘蛛拉了一條長長的、細細的絲,順著絲滑下樹籬。
小小鼠太太繼續(xù)向前走,去一個比較偏的儲藏室,取櫻桃核和薊花種子好準備飯菜。她一邊走,一邊不停地嗅來嗅去,眼睛盯著地板。
“我聞到了蜂蜜的味兒,是外面樹籬里的櫻草花嗎?我敢肯定我看到的就是那些小臟腳丫留下的腳印?!?/p>
繞過一個拐角,她突然就看到了大黃蜂芭比蒂,大黃蜂正嗡嗡嗡地叫著。小小鼠太太神情嚴肅地看著大黃蜂,她希望自己手里能有一個掃把。
“日安,大黃蜂芭比蒂,我很樂意買些蜂蠟,不過你來這下面干什么?你為什么總是要從窗戶進屋來,還不停地嗡嗡嗡叫?”小小鼠太太有些生氣了。
“嗡嗡嗡!”大黃蜂芭比蒂用惱怒的尖叫聲回答道。她順著通道溜走了,躲進了一間曾用來裝橡子的儲藏室。
小小鼠太太在圣誕節(jié)之前就吃掉了那些橡子,儲藏室現(xiàn)在應該是空的。但是里面全是凌亂的干苔蘚。小小鼠太太撥扯著苔蘚,有三四只蜜蜂探出頭來,兇狠地嗡嗡叫了起來。
“我可沒有讓人寄宿的習慣,這是私闖民宅!”小小鼠太太說,“我要把他們趕出去——”
“嗡嗡嗡!”
“我真想知道誰能幫幫我?!?/p>
“嗡嗡嗡!”
“我不會去找杰克遜先生,他從來都不擦腳?!?/p>
小小鼠太太決定等吃過飯后再去處理那些蜜蜂。她回到客廳,聽到有人在猛烈地咳嗽,坐在那里的正是杰克遜先生!他坐在一把小搖椅里,微笑著轉(zhuǎn)著大拇指玩,腳搭在火爐圍欄上。他住在樹籬下面的一條排水溝里,那里又臟又潮。
“你好嗎,杰克遜先生?天啊,你怎么這么濕呀!”
“謝謝,謝謝,謝謝,小小鼠太太!我坐一會兒把自己晾干。”杰克遜先生說。他坐在那里笑著,水從他外套的燕尾上滴落下來。小小鼠太太拿著一個墩布在他周圍轉(zhuǎn)來轉(zhuǎn)去。
他坐了很長一段時間,小小鼠太太不得不問他是不是愿意一起吃些東西。她先給他端上了櫻桃核?!爸x謝,謝謝,謝謝,小小鼠太太,我沒牙,沒牙,沒牙!”杰克遜先生說。他把嘴張得大大的,其實根本沒有必要張那么大,不過,確實,他沒有牙。
然后,小小鼠太太給他端來了薊草花的種子。
“太小了,太碎了,太碎了!噗,噗,噗!”杰克遜先生說,他把薊草花的種子吹得滿屋子都是。
“謝謝,謝謝,謝謝,小小鼠太太,現(xiàn)在,我真的覺得——真的想要——能有一小盤子蜂蜜!”
“恐怕我沒有,杰克遜先生!”小小鼠太太說。
“嘎呱呱,小小鼠太太!”杰克遜先生笑著說,“我能聞到蜂蜜的氣味,所以我才來拜訪的?!?/p>
杰克遜先生笨拙地從桌子邊站起來,開始查看櫥柜里面。小小鼠太太拿著抹布跟在他后面,把他在客廳地板上留下的大大的濕腳印擦掉。杰克遜先生確認櫥柜里沒有蜂蜜,便順著過道往前走。
“說實話,說實話,你會被卡住的,杰克遜先生!”
“嘎呱呱,小小鼠太太!”
他先擠進了餐具室。
“嘎呱呱?沒有蜂蜜?沒有蜂蜜,小小鼠太太?”
有三只小蟲子藏在餐具盤里。其中兩只逃走了,最小的那只被杰克遜先生抓住了。然后,他又擠進了食品間。蝴蝶小姐正在吃糖塊兒,但是她從窗戶那兒飛走了。
“嘎呱呱,小小鼠太太,你似乎有很多客人?。 ?/p>
“都是不請自來的!”小小鼠太太托瑪西娜說。
他們沿著沙子過道繼續(xù)向前。“嘎呱——”
“嗡嗡嗡!”
他在一個拐角處遇到了大黃蜂芭比蒂,便一口將她吞了下去,但很快就吐了出來。
“我不喜歡大黃蜂,他們渾身都長滿了毛?!苯芸诉d先生說,一邊還用衣服袖子擦著自己的嘴巴。
“出去,你這個討厭的老蛤??!”大黃蜂芭比蒂尖叫道。
“我要煩死了!”小小鼠太太喊道。她把自己關(guān)進了貯存堅果的地窖里。杰克遜先生把整個蜂窩給捅了,他似乎并不介意被蜜蜂蟄。
等到小小鼠太太壯著膽子出來的時候,所有人都已經(jīng)走了。但是屋內(nèi)卻凌亂、骯臟得嚇人?!拔覐臎]有見過這么亂的景象!——蜂蜜的污跡,苔蘚,薊草花——還有大大小小臟兮兮的腳印——弄得我漂亮整潔的房子四處都亂糟糟的。”小小鼠太太說。
她把苔蘚和剩下的蜂蠟打掃了。然后她去找了一些小樹枝回來,把大門又堵了一部分。
“我要把這門弄小些,讓杰克遜先生進不來!”
她從儲藏室里面拿出來了肥皂、毛巾和一個硬毛刷。但是她實在太累了,沒有力氣再干活了。她先是在椅子中睡著了,之后回到床上去睡了。
“我的家還能變得整潔起來嗎?”可憐的小小鼠太太說。
第二天,她很早便起了床,開始大掃除,這次大掃除整整進行了兩周。她掃啊,擦啊,刷啊,把所有家具都打了一遍蠟,又把她的小錫勺都擦得亮閃閃的。等到一切都變得干凈、整潔、漂亮時,她舉辦了一個派對,邀請了另外五只小老鼠來參加,但沒有邀請杰克遜先生。
杰克遜先生聞到了派對的氣味,來到土龔邊,卻沒有辦法擠進門里。所以,他們從窗戶將裝滿了蜂蜜的橡子殼一杯杯地遞給他,他一點兒也沒有覺得被冒犯。
杰克遜先生坐在外面,曬著太陽,說:“嘎呱呱!祝你健康,小小鼠太太!”