E. B. White - Stuart Little (A Harper Trophy Book)

W HEN Mrs. Frederick C. Littles second son arrived, everybody noticed that he was not much bigger than a mouse. The truth of the matter was, the baby looked very much like a mouse in every way He was only about two inches high; and he had a mouses sharp nose, a mouses tail, a mouses whiskers, and the pleasant, shy manner of a mouse. Before he was many days old he was not only looking like a mouse but acting like one, toowearing a gray hat and carrying a small cane. Mr. and Mrs. Little named him Stuart, and Mr. Little made him a tiny bed out of four clothespins and a cigarette box.

Unlike most babies, Stuart could walk as soon as he was born. When he was a week old he could climb lamps by shinnying up the cord. Mrs. Little saw right away that the infant clothes she had provided were unsuitable, and she set to work and made him a fine little blue worsted suit with patch pockets in which he could keep his handkerchief, his money, and his keys. Every morning, before Stuart dressed, Mrs. Little went into his room and weighed him on a small scale which was really meant for weighing letters. At birth Stuart could have been sent by first class mail for three cents, but his parents preferred to keep him rather than send him away; and when, at the age of a month, he had gained only a third of an ounce, his mother was so worried she sent for the doctor.

The doctor was delighted with Stuart and said that it was very unusual for an American family to have a mouse. He took Stuarts temperature and found that it was 98.6, which is normal for a mouse. He also examined Stuarts chest and heart and looked into his ears solemnly with a flashlight. (Not every doctor can look into a mouses ear without laughing.) Everything seemed to be all right, and Mrs. Little was pleased to get such a good report.

Feed him up! said the doctor cheerfully, as he left.

The home of the Little family was a pleasant place near a park in New York City. In the mornings the sun streamed in through the east windows, and all the Littles were up early as a general rule. Stuart was a great help to his parents, and to his older brother George, because of his small size and because he could do things that a mouse can do and was agreeable about doing them. One day when Mrs. Little was washing out the bathtub after Mr. Little had taken a bath, she lost a ring off her finger and was horrified to discover that it had fallen down the drain.

What had I better do? she cried, trying to keep the tears back.

If I were you, said George, I should bend a hairpin in the shape of a fishhook and tie it onto a piece of string and try to fish the ring out with it. So Mrs. Little found a piece of string and a hairpin, and for about a half-hour she fished for the ring; but it was dark down the drain and the hook always seemed to catch on something before she could get it down to where the ring was.

What luck? inquired Mr. Little, coming into the bathroom.

No luck at all, said Mrs. Little. The ring is so far down I cant fish it up.

Why dont we send Stuart down after it? suggested Mr. Little. How about it, Stuart, would you like to try?

Yes, I would, Stuart replied, but I think Id better get into my old pants. I imagine its wet down there.

Its all of that, said George, who was a trifle annoyed that his hook idea hadnt worked. So Stuart slipped into his old pants and prepared to go down the drain after the ring. He decided to carry the string along with him, leaving one end in charge of his father. When I jerk three times on the string, pull me up, he said. And while Mr. Little knelt in the tub, Stuart slid easily down the drain and was lost to view. In a minute or so, there came three quick jerks on the string, and Mr. Little carefully hauled it up. There, at the end, was Stuart, with the ring safely around his neck.

Oh, my brave little son, said Mrs. Little proudly, as she kissed Stuart and thanked him.

How was it down there? asked Mr. Little, who was always curious to know about places he had never been to.

It was all right, said Stuart.

But the truth was the drain had made him very slimy, and it was necessary for him to take a bath and sprinkle himself with a bit of his mothers violet water before he felt himself again. Everybody in the family thought he had been awfully good about the whole thing.

S TUART was also helpful when it came to Ping-pong. The Littles liked Ping-pong, but the balls had a way of rolling under chairs, sofas, and radiators, and this meant that the players were forever stooping down and reaching under things. Stuart soon learned to chase balls, and it was a great sight to see him come out from under a hot radiator, pushing a Ping-pong ball with all his might, the perspiration rolling down his cheeks. The ball, of course, was almost as high as he was, and he had to throw his whole weight against it in order to keep it rolling.

The Littles had a grand piano in their living room, which was all right except that one of the keys was a sticky key and didnt work properly. Mrs. Little said she thought it must be the damp weather, but I dont see how it could be the damp weather, for the key had been sticking for about four years, during which time there had been many bright clear days. But anyway, the key stuck, and was a great inconvenience to anyone trying to play the piano. It bothered George particularly when he was playing the Scarf Dance, which was rather lively. It was George who had the idea of stationing Stuart inside the piano to push the key up the second it was played. This was no easy job for Stuart, as he had to crouch down between the felt hammers so that he wouldnt get hit on the head. But Stuart liked it just the same: it was exciting inside the piano, dodging about, and the noise was quite terrific. Sometimes after a long session he would emerge quite deaf, as though he had just stepped out of an airplane after a long journey; and it would be some little time before he really felt normal again.

Mr. and Mrs. Little often discussed Stuart quietly between themselves when he wasnt around, for they had never quite recovered from the shock and surprise of having a mouse in the family. He was so very tiny and he presented so many problems to his parents. Mr. Little said that, for one thing, there must be no references to mice in their conversation. He made Mrs. Little tear from the nursery songbook the page about the Three Blind Mice, See How They Run.