When the tailor awoke in the morning, the first thing which he saw upon the patchwork quilt, was a skein of cherry-coloured twisted silk, and beside his bed stood the repentant Simpkin! [Illustration] "Alack, I am worn to a ravelling," said the Tailor of Gloucester, "but I have my twist!" The sun was shining on the snow when the tailor got up and dressed, and came out into the street with Simpkin running before him. The starlings whistled on the chimney stacks, and the throstles and robins sang--but they sang their own little noises, not the words they had sung in the night. "Alack," said the tailor, "I have my twist; but no more strength--nor time--than will serve to make me one single button-hole; for this is Christmas Day in the Morning! The Mayor of Gloucester shall be married by noon--and where is his cherry-coloured coat?" He unlocked the door of the little shop in Westgate Street, and Simpkin ran in, like a cat that expects something. But there was no one there! Not even one little brown mouse! The boards were swept clean; the little ends of thread and the little silk snippets were all tidied away, and gone from off the floor. But upon the table--oh joy! the tailor gave a shout--there, where he had left plain cuttings of silk--there lay the most beautifullest coat and embroidered satin waistcoat that ever were worn by a Mayor of Gloucester. [Illustration] There were roses and pansies upon the facings of the coat; and the waistcoat was worked with poppies and corn-flowers. [Illustration] Everything was finished except just one single cherry-coloured button-hole, and where that button-hole was wanting there was pinned a scrap of paper with these words--in little teeny weeny writing-- NO MORE TWIST And from then began the luck of the Tailor of Gloucester; he grew quite stout, and he grew quite rich. He made the most wonderful waistcoats for all the rich merchants of Gloucester, and for all the fine gentlemen of the country round. [Illustration] Never were seen such ruffles, or such embroidered cuffs and lappets! But his button-holes were the greatest triumph of it all. The stitches of those button-holes were so neat--_so_ neat--I wonder how they could be stitched by an old man in spectacles, with crooked old fingers, and a tailor's thimble. The stitches of those button-holes were so small--_so_ small--they looked as if they had been made by little mice! THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Tailor of Gloucester, by Beatrix Potter