The Point of View

THERE was a shriek from the pantry, and, almost simultaneously, a metallic clang; then the cry from Emily: ‘A mouse! A mouse in the bread box! Come quick and kill him!’

It is a part of my good fortune — the outcome of my equable temperament — to be calm in moments of the greatest stress. I was calm now. My movements were deliberate, and I could detect no acceleration in my pulse. I even had the forethought, as I moved toward the pantry, to provide myself with a lethal weapon in the form of a clothes stick, which stood by the kitchen sink.

The bread box is a large cubical container, of tin, japanned in black, with BREAD in such large gilt letters on the cover that not even a mouse could mistake them. The clothes stick is a billet of wood about three feet long, an inch thick, and two inches wide. Its usual function is to stir the clothes in the boiler on wash days, but now it was to become the weapon of the executioner.

As I approached the bread box I noticed that the lid was closed. It is curious how often our subconscious selves act for us when the conscious part of our being is paralyzed by fear. Even in the moment of surprise and the face of imminent peril, Emily had had the presence of mind to slam that cover down!

I lifted the box and listened. Not a sound!

‘Are you sure he is in there?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I know he is.’

I brought the box out into the kitchen and set it down in the middle of the floor.

‘Oh, not here, not here! He’ll be sure to get away! They always do when you try to kill them. Take him outdoors. ’

So I took the box and the clothes stick and carried them into the back yard and placed the box on the board walk. On my way I tilted the box a little, and as I did so I thought I heard a tiny movement inside — a slight scratching sound.

Out in the yard I raised the lid a trifle and peeped in. I could see nothing but part of a loaf of bread. I shook the box, and a gray shadow flashed across the bottom and essayed to climb one of the sides. I jabbed with the end of the clothes stick and missed. The shadow darted behind the piece of bread. I pushed it aside and jabbed again. Another miss! I raised the lid a little more, to get a better view. The mouse was still there, crouched, wary and watchful, in a corner, his heart beating so hard that it shook his sides. Two or three more vigorous blows failed to touch him, but they made so much noise that Norton and Pettigrew, my neighbors on the north and the west, came out and looked over the fence to see what I was doing.

On a hunting trip after big game some years ago I got into a tight corner with a bear. For some reason the incident came back to me now. The situation was the same, except that the positions were reversed. I began to recall how it had seemed when I was on the receiving end, and to think what sort of story the mouse would tell if he should get away.

‘You see, ’ he might say to his attentive and admiring listeners, ‘I had gone farther away than usual — into a new region — and had hunted for some time without any luck. Then I began to smell things — good things, and all round me, too; but they seemed to be stored in great buildings, ten times as tall as I am, with no openings, and made of something too hard for me to cut my way through.

‘But at last I found it — the greatest store of food I ever saw; a mass larger even than the biggest house that any of our family ever built. You would n’t believe there was so much anywhere in the world.

‘ It was in an immense building or room, large enough for a dance hall or a meeting place where all of us could get together. It had straight, smooth walls like the other buildings, without doors or windows; but on this one there seemed to be no roof, so all I had to do was to climb in.

‘I had begun to eat, when suddenly there was a tremendous crash. A roof dropped down and everything became dark. In a little while the building began to move and the floor tilted and rocked from side to side, so that I could n’t keep my balance; but by and by it came to rest again, and the roof seemed to rise, so that I could see light.

’I was just going to make a spring for it when a great beam, thicker through than my whole body, crashed down beside me like a flash of lightning. An eighth of an inch more and it would have crushed me flat! I leaped for the top of the wall, where the light still showed, but missed and fell back. Again that great beam came down, and the whole room rang till it nearly deafened me. I dashed for shelter behind an overhanging face of the mass of food, but the giant pushed the whole mass aside as if it had been a mere crumb, and struck again. This time I was n’t quite quick enough, and the beam caught me a glancing blow that maimed this foot.

‘I crawled behind a sort of cliff or high bank of the mass of food, but it was hurled aside again, and the timber smashed down right where I had been a moment before.

‘But the giant was clumsy — not half so quick as I am. In spite of his strength — and his blows had power enough to move a mountain — he touched me only that once. When I was in one corner of the room the beam would crash against the side, and twice when I slid across the floor it came down in the corner.

‘The oftener he missed me, the more furious he seemed to grow. The blows came so hard and fast, and made such a terrible noise, that other giants who live in neighboring castles carne out and looked over the battlements and watched; but still, by some miraculous good fortune, not another blow touched me.

‘At last, I think, the giant must have grown tired, for he stopped a moment, as if to take breath. It was my chance, and I took it. In a flash I reached the top of the wall, doubled over the side, and dodged into a sort of cave. The giant struck one last tremendous blow, which grazed the side of the building and made a deep ravine in the earth beside it. Then he took up the whole building and walked off with it as easily as I could carry a crumb of bread.

‘Strange, isn’t it, that a creature with so much food as he has should try to kill me for taking what little I needed ?

‘I know, of course, that I am lucky to be alive, but I’m afraid I shall never be the same mouse again, on account of this foot.’

Norton and Pettigrew were still leaning over the fence, grinning. Without seeming to notice their untimely mirth, I picked up the bread box and the clothes stick and returned to the kitchen. As I looked out of the end window I thought I saw a small, pointed, bewhiskered face peering for a moment with beady eyes from under one edge of the board walk. When I looked again it was gone.

‘Did you kill him?’ asked Emily.

‘Kill him! Did n’t you hear me lamming the daylights out of him?’

‘Yes, you certainly made noise enough; you always do. I’ll bet you let him go.’

‘Huh! Do you suppose any mouse could stand such a pounding as that? He’s out there in the back yard, and you need n’t be afraid of his getting into the bread box again — especially if you keep it closed. ’

I am afraid that Emily’s attitude toward life is hopelessly homocentric.