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Do
n't
let
nothing
happen
to
Mr.
Jingles
,
I
could
hear
Delacroix
saying
in
a
voice
that
would
n't
stay
steady
I
could
hear
that
,
and
I
could
feel
the
warmth
of
Mr.
Jingles
as
the
Frenchman
handed
it
to
me
,
just
a
mouse
,
smarter
than
most
of
the
species
,
no
doubt
,
but
still
just
a
mouse
for
a
"
that
and
a
"
that
.
Do
n't
let
that
bad
"
un
hurt
my
mouse
,
he
'd
said
,
and
I
had
promised
,
as
I
always
promised
them
at
the
end
when
walking
the
Green
Mile
was
no
longer
a
myth
or
a
hypothesis
but
something
they
really
had
to
do
.
Mail
this
letter
to
my
brother
,
who
I
have
n't
seen
for
twenty
years
?
I
promise
.
Say
fifteen
Hail
Marys
for
my
soul
?
I
promise
.
Let
me
die
under
my
spirit-name
and
see
that
it
goes
on
my
tombstone
?
I
promise
.
It
was
the
way
you
got
them
to
go
and
be
good
about
it
,
the
way
you
saw
them
into
the
chair
sitting
at
the
end
of
the
Green
Mile
with
their
sanity
intact
.
I
could
n't
keep
all
of
those
promises
,
of
course
,
but
I
kept
the
one
I
made
to
Delacroix
.
As
for
the
Frenchman
himself
,
there
had
been
hell
to
pay
.
The
bad
"
un
had
hurt
Delacroix
,
hurt
him
plenty
.
Oh
,
I
know
what
he
did
,
all
right
,
but
no
one
deserved
what
happened
to
Eduard
Delacroix
when
he
fell
into
Old
Sparky
's
savage
embrace
.
A
smell
of
peppermint
.
And
something
else
.
Something
back
inside
that
hole
.
I
took
a
pen
out
of
my
breast
pocket
with
my
right
hand
,
still
holding
onto
the
beam
with
my
left
,
not
worried
anymore
about
Brutal
inadvertently
tickling
my
sensitive
knees
.
I
unscrewed
the
pen
's
cap
onehanded
,
then
poked
the
nib
in
and
teased
something
out
.
It
was
a
tiny
splinter
of
wood
which
had
been
tinted
a
bright
yellow
,
and
I
heard
Delacroix
's
voice
again
,
so
clearly
this
time
that
his
ghost
might
have
been
lurking
in
that
room
with
us
--
the
one
where
William
Wharton
spent
so
much
of
his
time
.
Hey
,
you
guys
!
the
voice
said
this
time-the
laughing
,
amazed
voice
of
a
man
who
has
forgotten
,
at
least
for
a
little
while
,
where
he
is
and
what
awaits
him
.
Come
and
see
what
Mr.
Jingles
can
do
!
"
Christ
,
"
I
whispered
.
I
felt
as
if
the
wind
had
been
knocked
out
of
me
.
"
You
found
another
one
,
did
n't
you
?
"
Brutal
asked
.
"
I
found
three
or
four
.
"
I
came
down
and
shone
the
light
on
his
big
,
outstretched
palm
.
Several
splinters
of
wood
were
scattered
there
,
like
jackstraws
for
elves
.
Two
were
yellow
,
like
the
one
I
had
found
.
One
was
green
and
one
was
red
.
They
had
n't
been
painted
but
colored
,
with
wax
Crayola
crayons
.
