Particularly he was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind a wooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always have very small voices--especially in a black frost, when they talk in their sleep, like the Tailor of Gloucester. They said something mysterious that sounded like-- "Buz, quoth the blue fly, hum, quoth the bee, Buz and hum they cry, and so do we!" and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet. [Illustration] From the tailor's shop in Westgate came a glow of light; and when Simpkin crept up to peep in at the window it was full of candles. There was a snippeting of scissors, and snappeting of thread; and little mouse voices sang loudly and gaily-- "Four-and-twenty tailors Went to catch a snail, The best man amongst them Durst not touch her tail, She put out her horns Like a little kyloe cow, Run, tailors, run! or she'll have you all e'en now!" Then without a pause the little mouse voices went on again-- "Sieve my lady's oatmeal, Grind my lady's flour, Put it in a chestnut, Let it stand an hour----" [Illustration] "Mew! Mew!" interrupted Simpkin, and he scratched at the door. But the key was under the tailor's pillow, he could not get in. The little mice only laughed, and tried another tune-- "Three little mice sat down to spin, Pussy passed by and she peeped in. What are you at, my fine little men? Making coats for gentlemen. Shall I come in and cut off your threads? Oh, no, Miss Pussy, you'd bite off our heads!" "Mew! Mew!" cried Simpkin. "Hey diddle dinketty?" answered the little mice-- "Hey diddle dinketty, poppetty pet! The merchants of London they wear scarlet; Silk in the collar, and gold in the hem, So merrily march the merchantmen!" [Illustration] They clicked their thimbles to mark the time, but none of the songs pleased Simpkin; he sniffed and mewed at the door of the shop. "And then I bought A pipkin and a popkin, A slipkin and a slopkin, All for one farthing---- and upon the kitchen dresser!" added the rude little mice. "Mew! scratch! scratch!" scuffled Simpkin on the window-sill; while the little mice inside sprang to their feet, and all began to shout at once in little twittering voices: "No more twist! No more twist!" And they barred up the window shutters and shut out Simpkin. But still through the nicks in the shutters he could hear the click of thimbles, and little mouse voices singing-- [Illustration] "No more twist! No more twist!" Simpkin came away from the shop and went home, considering in his mind. He found the poor old tailor without fever, sleeping peacefully. Then Simpkin went on tip-toe and took a little parcel of silk out of the tea-pot, and looked at it in the moonlight; and he felt quite ashamed of his badness compared with those good little mice!