The Christmas Mouse by Miss Read Page A

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C HAPTER S IX
    A n unaccustomed sound woke the old lady within an hour. She slept lightly these days, and the stirring of one of her granddaughters or the mewing of a cat was enough to make her instantly alert.
    She lay listening for the sound again. The wind still moaned and roared outside, the rain pattered fitfully against the windowpane, and the fire whispered as the wood ash fell through the bars of the grate.
    It was a metallic noise that had roused her. What could it be? It might possibly be caused by part of the metal trellis which she and Mary had erected against the front porch to aid the growth of a new rose. Could it have blown loose?
    But she could have sworn that the sound was nearer at hand, somewhere inside the house. It was not the welcome click of the mousetrap at its work. Something downstairs . . .
    She sat upright in the chair. The fire had burned very low, and she leaned forward to put a little more wood on it, taking care to make no noise. Her ears strained for a repetition of the sound.
    Now she thought she could hear a slight scuffling noise. A bird? Another mouse? Her heart began to beat quickly. And then the tinny sound again, as though a lid were being lifted from a light saucepan, or a cake tin. Without doubt, someone was in the kitchen!
    Mrs Berry sat very still for a minute. She felt no fear,but she was cautious. She certainly did not intend to rouse the sleeping family above. Whoever it was, Mrs Berry felt quite capable of coping with him. Some rough old tramp probably, seeking a dry billet from the storm and, if left alone, on his way before the house stirred at daybreak. Mrs Berry began to feel justifiable annoyance at the thought of some wastrel making free with her accommodation, and, what was more to the point, rifling the larder.
    She bent to pick up the poker from the hearth. There was only one chance in ten that she would need to use it, but it was as well to be armed. It gave her extra confidence, and should the man be so silly as to show fight, then she would lay about him with energy and leave him marked.
    Tightening her dressing-gown cord round her ample waist, Mrs Berry, poker in hand, moved silently to the door of the living room. This door, then a short passage, and then the kitchen door needed to be negotiated before she came face to face with her adversary. Mrs Berry determined to take the obstacles at a rush, catching the intruder before he had a chance to make his escape.
    For one brief moment, before she turned the doorknob, the battered face of an old woman swam into Mrs Berry’s mind. The photograph had been given pride of place in the local paper only that week, and showed the victim of some young hooligans who had broken into her pathetic home to take what they could. Well, Mrs Berry told herself sturdily, such things might happen in a town. It wouldn’t occur in a little homely place like Shepherds Cross! She had dealt with plenty of scoundrels in her day, and knew that a stout heart was the best defence againstbullies. Right would always triumph in the end, and no good ever came of showing fear!
    She took a deep breath, a firmer grip on the poker, and flung open the door. Four quick determined steps took her to the kitchen door. She twisted the knob, and pushed the door open with her foot.
    There was a stifled sound, something between a sob and a scream, a scuffle, and an unholy clattering as a large tin fell upon the tiles of the kitchen floor.

    Mrs Berry switched on the light with her left hand, raised the poker menacingly in her right, and advanced upon her adversary.
    Upstairs, Jane stirred. She lay still for a minute or two, relishing the warmth of her sister’s back against hers, and the delicious warm hollow in which her cheek rested.
    Then she remembered, and sat up. It was just light enough to see that the two empty pillowcases had vanished. She crept carefully out of bed, and went to the foot. There on the floor stood two beautifully knobbly