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"
Oh
Paul
,
it
is
n't
...
it
ca
n't
be
!
"
"
Watch
,
"
I
said
,
"
and
then
tell
me
that
.
"
From
the
bag
on
the
table
I
took
a
spool
which
I
had
colored
myself
--
not
with
Crayolas
but
with
Magic
Markers
,
an
invention
undreamed
of
in
1932
.
It
came
to
the
same
,
though
.
It
was
as
bright
as
Del
's
had
been
,
maybe
brighter
.
Messieurs
et
mesdames
,
I
thought
.
Bienvenue
au
cirque
du
mousie
!
I
squatted
again
,
and
Mr.
Jingles
ran
off
my
palm
.
He
was
old
,
but
as
obsessed
as
ever
.
From
the
moment
I
had
taken
the
spool
out
of
the
bag
,
he
'd
had
eyes
for
nothing
else
.
I
rolled
it
across
the
shed
's
uneven
,
splintery
floor
,
and
he
was
after
it
at
once
.
He
did
n't
run
with
his
old
speed
,
and
his
limp
was
painful
to
watch
,
but
why
should
he
have
been
either
fast
or
surefooted
?
As
I
've
said
,
he
was
old
,
a
Methuselah
of
a
mouse
.
Sixty-four
,
at
least
.
He
reached
the
spool
,
which
struck
the
far
wall
and
bounced
back
.
He
went
around
it
,
then
lay
down
on
his
side
.
Elaine
started
forward
and
I
held
her
back
.
After
a
moment
,
Mr.
Jingles
found
his
feet
again
.
Slowly
,
so
slowly
,
he
nosed
the
spool
back
to
me
.
When
he
'd
first
come
--
I
'd
found
him
lying
on
the
steps
leading
to
the
kitchen
in
just
that
same
way
,
as
if
he
'd
travelled
a
long
distance
and
was
exhausted
--
he
had
still
been
able
to
guide
the
spool
with
his
paws
,
as
he
had
done
all
those
years
ago
on
the
Green
Mile
.
That
was
beyond
him
,
now
;
his
hindquarters
would
no
longer
support
him
.
Yet
his
nose
was
as
educated
as
ever
.
He
just
had
to
go
from
one
end
of
the
spool
to
the
other
to
keep
it
on
course
.
When
he
reached
me
,
I
picked
him
up
in
one
hand
--
no
more
than
a
feather
,
he
weighed
--
and
the
spool
in
the
other
.
His
bright
dark
eyes
never
left
it
.
"
Do
n't
do
it
again
,
Paul
,
"
Elaine
said
in
a
broken
voice
.
"
I
ca
n't
bear
to
watch
him
.
"
I
understood
how
she
felt
,
but
thought
she
was
wrong
to
ask
it
.
He
loved
chasing
and
fetching
the
spool
;
after
all
the
years
,
he
still
loved
it
just
as
much
.
We
should
all
be
so
fortunate
in
our
passions
.
"
There
are
peppermint
candies
in
the
bag
,
too
,
"
I
said
.
"
Canada
Mints
.
I
think
he
still
likes
them
--
he
wo
n't
stop
sniffing
,
if
I
hold
one
out
to
him
--
but
his
digestion
has
gotten
too
bad
to
eat
them
.
I
bring
him
toast
,
instead
.
"
I
squatted
again
,
broke
a
small
fragment
off
the
piece
I
'd
brought
with
me
from
the
sunroom
,
and
put
it
on
the
floor
.
Mr.
Jingles
sniffed
at
it
,
then
picked
it
up
in
his
paws
and
began
to
eat
.
His
tail
was
coiled
neatly
around
him
.
He
finished
,
then
looked
expectantly
up
.
