Lillian

Prologue

Doorsteps are rather magical places. You never know what kind of surprises are going to pop up there.

The doorstep of a mouse hole is no exception.

Mrs. Mouse was not thinking of this at the moment. Oh, heavens, no! She was far too busy cleaning. Hither and thither fluttered her feather-duster, as cheerful and determined as Mrs. Mouse herself.

The two mouse children were also hard at work - Melissa with a broom and the delightful conviction that she was doing a housewife's duty, and little Andrew with another broom and the sullen desire to be done with it. He couldn't see why he should work with the women while Mr. Mouse sat in his easy chair and read the paper. None of these practical mice thought of the doorstep or magic as they dusted or swept or read the paper. But soon, very soon, they would have to. For something was creeping closer to them every minute - an adventure, coming in a very unexpected form. Nearer and nearer it drew to the unsuspecting mice, nearer and nearer, nearer and nearer, until -

Rat-a-tat-tat!

There was a sharp knock on the front door.

Poor Andrew recognized too late the excuse to drop his broom.

"I'll get it!" cried Melissa - who was, it must be confessed, a rather vain little mouse who loved visitors because they meant a chance to show off her pretty manners. She flew to the door and opened it.

The next moment her voice resounded through the little mouse hole, betraying astonishment and surprise.

"Oh! Oh, Mama Mouse! Papa Mouse! Come quickly, come quickly and see!" Mrs. Mouse dropped her duster, Andrew dropped his broom, and Mr. Mouse dropped his paper. All rushed to the door.

"What is -" began Mrs. Mouse, but then she stopped; for she saw. She stared with open mouth for a moment - Mr. Mouse and Andrew and Melissa stared, too - and then she burst out, "Why, it's a baby! A little baby girl!"

For a baby it was.

Now, you might think that to find a baby sleeping on your front doorstep is a very peculiar thing. And indeed it is a very peculiar thing - peculiar and wonderful. But that was not the most peculiar thing about it - no, not at all. For the baby was not a mouse baby.

Anyone could see it. She might have been the right size for a mouse baby, but that was all. In all other respects, she looked like - well, like a human. Her wispy hair formed a black mist all over her little head; her soft, plump little cheeks were rosy pink; her perfectly-formed little hands were white and smooth. The little red lips curved in an innocent baby half-smile, and her soft little body was wrapped in a pale purple cloth. The mice loved her at once.

“What is she?” asked Andrew.

“I – I don’t know,” said Mrs. Mouse. “But she is very beautiful.” Gingerly, almost fear-fully, she leaned down, picked the baby up, and cradled her in her arms. The baby stirred a little, but remained asleep.

"Oh, she is beautiful!" cried Melissa, peeking at the little pink face. "I love her already!"

"Can we keep her?" piped little Andrew.

Mrs. Mouse looked at Mr. Mouse. Mr. Mouse, in turn, looked a little perturbed.

"Well - goodness, Andrew, we mustn't rush into anything. Of course the baby has to have come from somewhere. And it would not do to adopt someone else's baby."

"I don't see anyone around." Mrs. Mouse took a step forward and looked about in the cautious but thorough way mice have, stretching her neck and wiggling her nose as her bright dark eyes darted here and there. She peered very hard at the lavender all around, but she didn't see anything.

"How odd!" she exclaimed. "Someone must have knocked at the door."

"They can't have gone far," said Mr. Mouse. "I'll find them."

He scampered off into the lavender. Melissa and Andrew, without being asked, took the cue and scampered off as well, into different directions. Mrs. Mouse sat down on the doorstep, dandled the baby on her knee, and looked around, wondering.

Melissa and Andrew soon gave up the search and came back; but half an hour passed be-fore Mr. Mouse came pattering back again. He shook his head by way of showing the search had been unsuccessful.

"Well, isn't this strange!" cried Mrs. Mouse, as they all went back into the mouse-hole. "A miniature human baby on our doorstep, and no one around to claim her!"

"I'm glad we didn't find anyone," said Melissa, plopping down into her little wooden chair. "It means we can keep the baby."

Nobody answered her; but Mrs. Mouse looked at Mr. Mouse, and Mr. Mouse looked at Mrs. Mouse, and it was plain as plain that they were thinking the same thing.

"We'll keep her as long as no one else claims her," said Mrs. Mouse at length; and every-one knew that what Mrs. Mouse meant was, "We'll keep her forever." Already there was a light of maternal devotion in Mrs. Mouse's clever practical eyes, and a gleam of paternal dedication in Mr. Mouse's.

"Oh, goody!" cried Melissa, clapping her hands. "What'll we call her?"

"We'll call her by her right name," said Mrs. Mouse. "The one I found on her blanket." She held out the fold of the baby's lavender-colored wrapping. Upon it was embroidered, in violet cloth, one word: "Lillian."

Melissa cocked her head, stared very hard at the name, and smiled. "I like that name," she said. And so it was that the mice took Lillian into their home and into their hearts. So it also was that they began to believe in magic and in Other Things beyond the doorstep - not, however, so much as you might think. They were too wrapped up in Lillian to really ponder where Lillian came from.

If they had been a little more wondering, though, and a little more watchful, they might have begun to believe much more fervently. For they might have heard the rustling in the lavender just outside and caught the sound of very faint, suppressed laughter. And they might have seen two grinning faces - not very nice faces - peep out of the lavender and peer very hard at the closed door of the mouse hole, and then peer very hard at each other, and then wink. Then they might have seen the two merry faces pop out of sight again.

What would the mice have thought of this? No one will ever know, for they did not see it. Perhaps if they had, this story would be different.