It was just the same next day. An
excellent breakfast was
provided—for mice accustomed to
eat bacon; but Timmy Willie had
been reared on roots and salad.
Johnny Town-mouse and his
friends racketted about under the
floors, and came boldly out all
over the house in the evening.
One particularly loud crash had
been caused by Sarah tumbling
downstairs with the tea-tray;
there were crumbs and sugar
and smears of jam to be collected, in spite of the cat.
Timmy Willie longed to be at
home in his peaceful nest in a
sunny bank. The food disagreed
with him; the noise prevented
him from sleeping. In a few days
he grew so thin that Johnny
Town-mouse noticed it, and
questioned him. He listened to
Timmy Willie's story and inquired
about the garden. "It sounds
rather a dull place? What do you
do when it rains?"