Authors: Lois Lowry
Bless this Mouse
Lois Lowry
Table of Contents
Illustrations by Eric Rohmann
Houghton Mifflin Books for Children
H
OUGHTON
M
IFFLIN
H
ARCOURT
Boston New York 2011
Text copyright © 2011 by Lois Lowry
Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Eric Rohmann
All rights reserved. For information about permission to
reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,
215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
Houghton Mifflin is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
The text of this book is set in Horley Old Style MT.
The illustrations are inkwash and pencil.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lowry, Lois.
Bless this mouse / written by Lois Lowry and illustrated by Eric Rohmann.
p. cm.
Summary: Mouse Mistress Hildegarde musters all her ingenuity
to keep a large colony of church mice safe from the exterminator and to
see that they make it through the dangerous Blessing of the Animals.
ISBN 978-0-547-39009-3
[1. MiceâFiction.] I. Rohmann, Eric, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.L9673Bl 2011
[Fic]âdc22
2010007331
Manufactured in the United States of America
TOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
4500280801
For
Margaret Holcombe,
so very close to saintly
1 A Bad Time for Babies!
[>]
2 Praying for Protection
[>]
3 Hildegarde Holds a Meeting
[>]
4 Hiding from Father Murphy
[>]
5 A Nighttime Raid
[>]
6 The Great X
[>]
7 Yikes! Outdoors!
[>]
8 Ignatious Explains the Horrors
[>]
9 Brave Volunteers Needed!
[>]
10 One Mouse Is Missing!
[>]
11 Poor Lucretia!
[>]
12 The Blessing of the Animals
[>]
A Bad Time for Babies
Hildegarde sighed, a loud, squeaking, outraged sort of sigh, when she was informed that a new litter of mouselets had been born in the sexton's closet.
Such bad timing! Such bad placement!
She scurried from the sacristy, the private room where Father Murphy's special priestly clothes were stored. She'd been napping there comfortably, until Roderick, whiskers twitching, woke her with the news. Oh, he was a busybody, no question! Always looking for a reaction. Well, he got one this time! She was furious.
Checking carefully to be certain there were no humans around (sometimes the Altar Guild ladies dropped in during the afternoons to rearrange flowers), Hildegarde tiptoed quickly into the large, highceilinged church itself, through the side section known as the transept, and entered the central area called the nave. Audaciously she hurried down the center aisle, ready at any instant to disappear into a pew and under a kneeler if someone entered. But the sanctuary was empty and quiet and she made her way, undisturbed, down its length.
Next she found herself in the narthex. Hildegarde so liked the formal names for the parts of the church. If she were in an ordinary house, she thought, twitching her nose at the idea, this would be known as the front hall. What an
ordinary
name!
Narthex
had a ring to it. You knew you were in an important place when you entered a
narthex!
There was a tiny opening here, beside the front door, where the floor had settled slightly. Through the opening Hildegarde could enter the wall. The church mice all used this as an entry or exit because stairs were a problem for them. It was easier to ascend or descend inside the wall, where there were tangled wires and frayed insulation to cling to. Carefully, she scurried downward.
Now, having made her way below, she was in the interior wall of the undercroft. Since Hildegarde had lived in Saint Bartholemew's all her life, she knew the route by heart, especially where to scramble over the copper pipes and how to avoid the places where drifting insulation made her sneeze. There were many exits here in the undercroft: one, she recalled, amused as she passed it, into the nursery, a noisy place on Sunday mornings and best avoided. Babies in general were best avoided. They spent time on the floor, could see into crevices, and had graspy hands.
But at least babies couldn't talk, and report a mouse sighting! The group to be most feared, Hildegard thought, was the Altar Guild. More than one of the ladies had actually
shrieked
upon happening on a mouse. Oh, dear. Always an uproar when that happened. (Men seemed to be more sensible about such things.)
Finally, after passing countless Sunday School rooms and making her way carefully around the complicated piping of the bathrooms, Hildegarde arrived at the entrance, a small gnawed hole, to the sexton's closet. She winced when the ragged hole edge grabbed her sleek coat, but wriggled through; then, emerging on the other side within the closet itself, she fastidiously pulled her long, elegant tail through in one swoop.
There they were, curled in a nest made in the sexton's ropey gray mop: at least seven of them, it appeared, and bright pink, a color Hildegarde had always disliked. Annoyed, she looked around. She knew the mother would be nearby. No self-respecting mouse mother would leave infants this young alone. So someone was hiding.
"Show yourself!" Hildegarde commanded. She didn't use her commanding voice terribly often, even though she was the matriarch, the chosen Mouse Mistress, and therefore entitled. But she was angry and nervous. The timing of this was so unfortunate.
The mouse mother responded with a timid squeak, peeping out from between the ropey tangles of a moldy-smelling mop.
"I
knew
it would be you! I just knew it!" Hildegarde said.
"Who told?" squeaked the mouse, guiltily. She made her way over toward the litter, which was beginning to whimper and wiggle at the sound of her voice. She nudged them back into a tidy pile with her nose and then lay down beside the babies, looking up at Hildegarde.
