Our hearts had been softened toward the “wee, cow’rin, timrous beasties” by a tender little tale of a parsonage mouse, and we made friends with a gray visitor that showed itself, now in the den at the back of our house, now in the sitting room in front. Because we took our meals out, Monsieur Mousie’s crumbs were uncertain; but he investigated thoroughly and managed to find a livelihood. In our quiet rooms we often heard him at his hunting, and smiled at thought of his daring and industry. Twice he was emptied out of the carpet-sweeper (he must have fallen on very hard times at those periods), but seemed none the worse for the adventure, although the manipulator of the sweeper was herself much disturbed. The waste paper basket finally became his cupboard, and peanut shells his favorite fare. Often as we sat, my brother smoking and I reading, we would hear bits of paper rustling and would know bright eyes were watching us while sharp teeth nibbled the husks we had saved for them. Daily, for a month or two, the small thing came for his share. Alone in the room one Sunday evening, I was lying on the couch reading when I saw a little gray shadow steal out and creep toward the waste paper basket. I knew there was nothing in it, and lazily felt for Mousie’s disappointment. The gray shadow stole back, halted by the lace curtains, floated up them half way, and stopped near Nixie’s cage. I held my breath. What next? Was he after bird seed? Was this the explanation of Nixie’s empty cup that had perplexed me the last week? But a peculiar, quick chirp made me wonder if the bird were afraid, if the mouse could get at and hurt him. I raised my head and saw the gray thing sitting on the seed cup eating like one starved. Nixie was looking at it, his wings wide spread, eyes flashing, mouth wide open in protest, body poised for attack. But the feast went quietly on. Nixie gave a few sharp questions and then settled down to study his visitor. It was too good to keep to myself; I called my mother and brother and whistled up the tube for neighbors to join us in watching the strange scene. By the time the audience was gathered the actors were ready to play their parts. Nixie went close to the seed dish and chirped a welcome to his guest, then, hopping backward, selected a station and sang a sweet song for him. The mouse seemed to like it. He left off his eating and crept along outside the floor of the cage, which extended a couple of inches from the bars. Nixie within and Mousie without promenaded together around the four sides; and close together, too, Nixie all the time gayly gossiping and chattering. We say they kept it up for half an hour, but that is a pretty long time. At any rate it was several minutes.