Milo was a mouse who lived in a great library.
A library wasn’t usually a place for a mouse to feel welcome, but in return
for his promise not to chew on any books, Ms Watkins, the Librarian, had given
Milo cheese and a cozy shoe box to sleep in.
Milo also served as Ms Watkins’ reader.
Ms Watkins was an elderly woman who was now half blind; it had been
years since spectacles had given her any benefit.
Milo enjoyed reading to Ms Watkins and the library provided so many
books to choose from.
He loved them all.
His whiskers would twitch with delight as he read the lively rhymes of
Dr Seuss, his paws would float jovially in the air as he pretended to be
pulling on the strings of the puppet Pinocchio, and his nose would rise up in
the air as he would imagine smelling the roses in the Secret Garden.
But his favourites were the Tales of Beatrix Potter. As a mouse he found
a common ground with books that told of rabbits in jackets, ducks in bonnets,
and yes, a mouse in a dress and apron!
He knew the smell of those pages as precious and individually unique to
the other books in the library.
But today the beautiful collection of complete tales was missing. At
least, it was not in the place on the shelf where it should be and he didn’t
think it had been borrowed; on those days he would content himself with “The
Wind In The Willows”.
To ask Ms Watkins if she’d seen the beloved book would be a waste of
time. Her poor eyesight was worse some days more than others, and as Milo now
watched her pouring her tea into the biscuit jar, it seemed to be a bad day.
If only he could prick up his round ears and hear Mr McGregor shouting
“Stop thief!” through the pages.
He knew it so well he could almost taste the lettuces, and smell the
radishes.
Smell! That’s it!
Milo knew the smell of that book like a blue cheese. He lifted his nose
to the air, not to smell the roses in the hidden garden of Misselthwaite Manor,
but to catch the scent of those pages.
It was there. The scent was caught amidst the dusty air of the library.
He scampered quickly across the great carpet and followed the scent as
though a string was pulling on the end of his nose, passed the Wizard of Oz, to
the large round pillow on the floor next to the children’s books.
A young girl was curled up with the book, and when she saw Milo, she
gently patted the spot beside her, inviting the little mouse to join her.
He bounded up to her side, and with great anticipation he watched her
turn the first page.
“Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were
–“
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