But Simpkin hid a little parcel privately in the tea-pot, and spit and growled at the tailor; and if Simpkin had been able to talk, he would
have asked: "Where is my MOUSE?" "Alack, I am undone!" said the Tailor of Gloucester, and went sadly
All that night long Simpkin hunted and searched through the
kitchen, peeping into cupboards and under the wainscot, and into
the tea-pot where he had hidden that twist; but still he found never
a mouse! Whenever the tailor muttered and talked in his sleep,
Simpkin said "Miaw-ger-r-w-s-s-ch!" and made strange horrid
noises, as cats do at night.
For the poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning in his four-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled—"No more
twist! no more twist!"
All that day he was ill, and the next day, and the next; and what
should become of the cherry-coloured coat? In the tailor's shop in
Westgate Street the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon the
table—one-and-twenty button-holes—and who should come to sew
them, when the window was barred, and the door was fast locked?