The tailor sat down, close over the fire, lamenting—"One-and-twenty
button-holes of cherry-coloured silk! To be finished by noon of
Saturday: and this is Tuesday evening. Was it right to let loose
those mice, undoubtedly the property of Simpkin? Alack, I am
undone, for I have no more twist!"
The little mice came out again, and listened to the tailor; they took
notice of the pattern of that wonderful coat. They whispered to one
another about the taffeta lining, and about little mouse tippets.
And then all at once they all ran away together down the passage
behind the wainscot, squeaking and calling to one another, as they
ran from house to house; and not one mouse was left in the tailor's
kitchen when Simpkin came back with the pipkin of milk!