The Tailor of Gloucester Read online

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 atnight.

  For the poor old tailor was very ill with a fever, tossing and turning inhis four-post bed; and still in his dreams he mumbled--"No more twist! nomore twist!"

  All that day he was ill, and the next day, and the next; and what shouldbecome of the cherry-coloured coat? In the tailor's shop in WestgateStreet the embroidered silk and satin lay cut out upon thetable--one-and-twenty button-holes--and who should come to sew them, whenthe window was barred, and the door was fast locked?

  But that does not hinder the little brown mice; they run in and outwithout any keys through all the old houses in Gloucester!

  Out of doors the market folks went trudging through the snow to buy theirgeese and turkeys, and to bake their Christmas pies; but there would be noChristmas dinner for Simpkin and the poor old Tailor of Gloucester.

  The tailor lay ill for three days and nights; and then it was ChristmasEve, and very late at night. The moon climbed up over the roofs andchimneys, and looked down over the gateway into College Court. There wereno lights in the windows, nor any sound in the houses; all the city ofGloucester was fast asleep under the snow.

  And still Simpkin wanted his mice, and he mewed as he stood beside thefour-post bed.

  But it is in the old story that all the beasts can talk, in the nightbetween Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in the morning (though there arevery few folk that can hear them, or know what it is that they say).

  When the Cathedral clock struck twelve there was an answer--like an echoof the chimes--and Simpkin heard it, and came out of the tailor's door,and wandered about in the snow.

  From all the roofs and gables and old wooden houses in Gloucester came athousand merry voices singing the old Christmas rhymes--all the old songsthat ever I heard of, and some that I don't know, like Whittington'sbells.

  First and loudest the cocks cried out: "Dame, get up, and bake your pies!"

  "Oh, dilly, dilly, dilly!" sighed Simpkin.

  And now in a garret there were lights and sounds of dancing, and cats camefrom over the way.

  "Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle! All the cats inGloucester--except me," said Simpkin.

  Under the wooden eaves the starlings and sparrows sang of Christmas pies;the jack-daws woke up in the Cathedral tower; and although it was themiddle of the night the throstles and robins sang; the air was quite fullof little twittering tunes.

  But it was all rather provoking to poor hungry Simpkin!

  Particularly he was vexed with some little shrill voices from behind awooden lattice. I think that they were bats, because they always have verysmall voices--especially in a black frost, when they talk in their sleep,like the Tailor of Gloucester.

  They said something mysterious that sounded like--

  "Buz, quoth the blue fly, hum, quoth the bee, Buz and hum they cry, and so do we!"

  and Simpkin went away shaking his ears as if he had a bee in his bonnet.

  From the tailor's shop in Westgate came a glow of light; and when Simpkincrept up to peep in at the window it was full of candles. There was asnippeting of scissors, and snappeting of thread; and little mouse voicessang loudly and gaily--

  "Four-and-twenty tailors Went to catch a snail, The best man amongst them Durst not touch her tail, She put out her horns Like a little kyloe cow, Run, tailors, run! or she'll have you all e'en now!"

  Then without a pause the little mouse voices went on again--

  "Sieve my lady's oatmeal, Grind my lady's flour, Put it in a chestnut, Let it stand an hour----"

  "Mew! Mew!" interrupted Simpkin, and he scratched at the door. But thekey was under the tailor's pillow, he could not get in.

  The little mice only laughed, and tried another tune--

  "Three little mice sat down to spin, Pussy passed by and she peeped in. What are you at, my fine little men? Making coats for gentlemen. Shall I come in and cut off your threads? Oh, no, Miss Pussy, you'd bite off our heads!"

  "Mew! Mew!" cried Simpkin. "Hey diddle dinketty?" answered the littlemice--

  "Hey diddle dinketty, poppetty pet! The merchants of London they wear scarlet; Silk in the collar, and gold in the hem, So merrily march the merchantmen!"

  They clicked their thimbles to mark the time, but none of the songspleased Simpkin; he sniffed and mewed at the door of the shop.

  "And then I bought A pipkin and a popkin, A slipkin and a slopkin, All for one farthing----

  and upon the kitchen dresser!" added the rude little mice.

  "Mew! scratch! scratch!" scuffled Simpkin on the window-sill; while thelittle mice inside sprang to their feet, and all began to shout at once inlittle twittering voices: "No more twist! No more twist!" And they barredup the window shutters and shut out Simpkin.

  But still through the nicks in the shutters he could hear the click ofthimbles, and little mouse voices singing--

  "No more twist! No more twist!"

  Simpkin came away from the shop and went home, considering in his mind. Hefound the poor old tailor without fever, sleeping peacefully.

  Then Simpkin went on tip-toe and took a little parcel of silk out of thetea-pot, and looked at it in the moonlight; and he felt quite ashamed ofhis badness compared with those good little mice!

  When the tailor awoke in the morning, the first thing which he saw uponthe patchwork quilt, was a skein of cherry-coloured twisted silk, andbeside his bed stood the repentant Simpkin!

  "Alack, I am worn to a ravelling," said the Tailor of Gloucester, "but Ihave my twist!"

  The sun was shining on the snow when the tailor got up and dressed, andcame out into the street with Simpkin running before him.

  The starlings whistled on the chimney stacks, and the throstles and robinssang--but they sang their own little noises, not the words they had sungin the night.

  "Alack," said the tailor, "I have my twist; but no more strength--nortime--than will serve to make me one single button-hole; for this isChristmas Day in the Morning! The Mayor of Gloucester shall be married bynoon--and where is his cherry-coloured coat?"

  He unlocked the door of the little shop in Westgate Street, and Simpkinran 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 silksnippets were all tidied away, and gone from off the floor.

  But upon the table--oh joy! the tailor gave a shout--there, where he hadleft plain cuttings of silk--there lay the most beautifullest coat andembroidered satin waistcoat that ever were worn by a Mayor of Gloucester.

  There were roses and pansies upon the facings of the coat; and thewaistcoat was worked with poppies and corn-flowers.

  Everything was finished except just one single cherry-colouredbutton-hole, and where that button-hole was wanting there was pinned ascrap of paper with these words--in little teeny weeny writing--

  NO MORE TWIST

  And from then began the luck of the Tailor of Gloucester; he grew quitestout, and he grew quite rich.

  He made the most wonderful waistcoats for all the rich merchants ofGloucester, and for all the fine gentlemen of the country round.

  Never were seen such ruffles, or such embroidered cuffs and lappets! Buthis button-holes were the greatest triumph of it all.

  The stitches of those button-holes were so neat--_so_ neat--I wonder howthey could be stitched by an old man in spectacles, with crooked oldfingers, and a tailor's thimble.

  The stitches of those button-holes were so small--_so_ small--they lookedas if they had been made by little mice!

  THE END

 

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