not a creature was stirring, not even a snake.
Burrows were dug with excitement and care
In hopes that St. Firestar soon would be there
The kits were nestled all snug in their dens,
While visions of catmint danced in their heads;
And Sandstorm with her moss bed, and I in my bracken,
Had just settled down for a long leaf-bare's nap
When out on the moor there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the den to see what was the matter.
Away to the border I flew like a gleam,
Tore past the scent-line and over a stream.
Gave the lustre of sun-high to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature moss-nest, and eight tiny deer,
With a little old cat, so lively and astire,
I knew in a heartbeat it must be St. Fire.
More rapid than hawks his coursers they came,
And he mewed, and growled, and called them by name;
"Now, WHITESTORM! now, LIONHEART! now, REDTAIL and FERNCLOUD!
On, BLUESTAR! On BLACKSTAR! On, TALLSTAR and HAILSTAR!
To the top of Fourtrees! To the top of the Rock!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry grass that before the wild windstorm fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the tree-tops the coursers they flew,
With the nest full of mice, and St. Firestar too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the den roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my paw, and was turning around,
Down the camp entrance St. Fire came with a bound.
His pelt was all orange, from tail-tip to head-fur,
And his whiskers were tangled with bracken and burrs;
A bundle of mice he had flung 'neath his chin,
And he looked like a loner exploring within.
His eyes - how they twinkled! His whiskers how merry!
His cheeks were like tussocks, his nose like a berry!
His small little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the whiskers of his cheeks were as white as the snow;
The stump of an herb he held tight in his teeth,
And the scent, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had an orange face, a bright little smile,
That made this late night all worth the while.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old feline,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the time;
A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Soon made me know I had nothing to dread;
He mewed not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the burrows; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his claw aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the bracken he rose;
He sprang to his nest, to his team gave a growl,
And away they all flew like a silent owl.
But I heard him exclaim, as he flew out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMOUSE TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!"
