"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
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.