. Melchior's dream, Brothers of pity, and other tales . ould have clawed into the remotest corner of thefoot. As it was, I pushed, I struggled, I shook, Iworried the wretched boot—but all in vain. Only when I was all but choked did I withdrawmy head for a gasp of fresh air. And there was theCaptain himself, yelling with laughter, and sprawlingall over the place in convulsions of unseemly merri-ment, with those long legs which—but they are nothis fault, poor man ! That is my story—an unfinished tale, of which Ido not myself know the end. This is the one crookin my luxurious lot—that I cannot se
. Melchior's dream, Brothers of pity, and other tales . ould have clawed into the remotest corner of thefoot. As it was, I pushed, I struggled, I shook, Iworried the wretched boot—but all in vain. Only when I was all but choked did I withdrawmy head for a gasp of fresh air. And there was theCaptain himself, yelling with laughter, and sprawlingall over the place in convulsions of unseemly merri-ment, with those long legs which—but they are nothis fault, poor man ! That is my story—an unfinished tale, of which Ido not myself know the end. This is the one crookin my luxurious lot—that I cannot see the last ofthat mouse. Happily, I dont think that my master any longermisunderstands my attachment to the other day, he sat scribbling for a long time witha pencil and paper, and when he had done it, hethrew the sketch to me, and said, There, Toots,look at that, and you will see what became of yourfriend! It was civilly meant, and I append the sketch forthe sake of those whom it may inform. I do notunderstand pictures THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY TILOHN8 TOOTS AND BOOTS. 325 Those boots have a strange fascination for me sit for hours by the mouth of the one where hewent in and never came back. Not the faintestsqueak from its recesses has ever stirred the sensi-tive hairs of my watchful ear. He must be starving,but not a nibble of the leather have I heard. I doze,but I am ever on the alert. Nightmares occasionallydisturb me. I fancy I see him, made desperate byhunger, creep anxiously to the mouth of the boot,pricking his ragged ear. Once I had a terrible visionof his escaping, and of his tail as it vanished roundthe corner. But these are dreams. He has never suspect that the truth is, that he had a fit fromfright, in the toe of the boot, and is dead. Someday Terence will shake out his skeleton. It grows very cold. This place is full of draughts,and the floor is damp. He must be dead. He never could have lasted solong without a m
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