FRANK and a FIELD-MOUSE.
A few days after Frank had seen the rat at work on the bank of the pond, he was at play in the fields with his pet dog. He saw Dash scratch up the ground and smell about.
“Here, Dash! Dash!” said Frank; “what are you doing?”
“Frank was a kind boy, and would not let Dash run after it.”
“Frank was a kind boy, and would not let Dash run after it.”
“Frank was a kind boy, and would not let Dash run after it.”
Just then a small brown mouse came out of his hole, and ran away very fast. Frank was a kind boy, and would not let Dash run after it and kill it, as he wished. He held his dog tight, and sat down near the spot, to see if the mouse would come back; but as it did not, he ran in-doors to tell his mamma what he had seen.
“It was such a nice little mouse, mamma, with a very long tail; and it ran away at a great rate.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Dean, “the field-mouse is very quick and can leap well. It does much harm in the fields and gardens, and to the ricks of corn, and is often found in farm-yards. Owls, kites, dogs, andcats make war against the poor field-mouse, and I fear that men do so too.”
“Poor thing!” said Frank; “I am sure I would not kill one, for I like to see them run in and out of their holes.”
“In its nest in the ground,” said Mrs. Dean, “or under a bunch of moss, it hoards up its store of food before the cold days come: sometimes it finds out the holes which the mole has left, and lives in them.”
“How sly,” said Frank, “not to make a place of his own! Thank you, dear mamma, for this tale about him.”