The field mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short; and coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice: Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life. Don’t speak of it, I beg of you, replied the Woodman. I have no heart, you know, so I am careful to help all those who may need a friend, even if it happens to be only a mouse. Only a mouse! cried the little animal, indignantly. Why, I am a Queen, the Queen of all the Field Mice! Continue Reading
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Freed from its enemy, stopped short
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In Weybridge headquarters
Byfleet was in a tumult; people packing, and a score of hussars, some of them dismounted, some on horseback, were hunting them about. Three or four black government waggons, with crosses in white circles, and an old omnibus, among other vehicles, were being loaded in the village street. There were scores of people. Continue Reading
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The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe
“What can I do for you?” she inquired softly, for she was moved by the sad voice in which the man spoke. Get an oil-can and oil my joints,” he answered. They are rusted so badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon be all right again. You will find an oil-can on a shelf in my cottage. Continue Reading
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