For those of you who did not read the previous story
(although I certainly do not know why not), I shall once again introduce
Cecil, our curly-headed hero of this series. Reader, this is Cecil. Cecil,
meet Reader. There.
The former two-year-old was three, and had picked
up many useful words (such as 'hungry', and 'cookie') in the adults' barbaric
tongue. However, he still retained his natural linguistic skill of speaking
with the amimal world.
On this particular day in May, on which we pick
up our story, Cecil (whom his friend called Ce, if you will remember) was
arriving home from various errands with his mother. As soon as she opened
the door, he rushed up the stairs (which were no longer a source of fright),
mindful of a certain piece of cheese in his pocket and a patient mouse
waiting in sweet, cheesy dreams up in his room. Upon arriving there, imagine
Ce's surprise when he found the cage quite empty! Inspection proved there
to be a lengthy note in the carefully dug out woodshaving home. Not being
able to read, Ce looked at the letter and recognised nothing ut the very
familiar signature of Sir Francis at the bottom of the last page.
"This is a dilemna," Ce said to himself.
"And what shall I do? since I cannot read this."
At this opportune moment, who should fly in through
the open window on an errand of state but the resident owl (whose name
was not Snowy, but Archibald). Ce listened to his petition (a request
from the crows asking that Ce appeal to his mother and father to cease
chasing them away from the garden). Afterwards he asked that the note be
read aloud, on the promise that he would look into the crows' request.
Archibald obliged. The note ran as follows:
"My very dear Cecil," it began, "I sincerely hope
this finds you well, though that is merely a formality, as a note cannot
really find anyone in any state at all. But I digress. By the time you
get this (as close as my calculations can make it), I am sure you will
be curious as to my whereabouts, and well you might. I must confess, I
myself will probably be curious as well, seeing that - but explanations
frst.
"As you know, I once accompanied a knight on his
travels lang syne (and a most excellent knight he was, and travels to match.
We went all over Europe, from Spain to Germany, and I would have to say
that, all things considered, France was most likely my favorite. Why, you
may ask? Well,
Two pages ommited.
"... and those days were certainly most glorious.
In fact, once we did run into a - no, for your sake I shall stick directly
to the point, no rabbit-trailing and such. That being, excluding all other
reasons such as...
Several pages ommited, Sir Francis' idea of "the
point" evidently being quite different from the desireable one at this
time.
"...I have decided to travel once again.
Being a rather small animal, I will most likely limit myself to this city.
And so, I bid you fond farewell. As always, I remain
Yours,
Sir Francis."
When Ce awoke from his shock, the owl had long since
flown. At once, sensing the urgency of the situation, Ce set about preparing
for a search.
The next day, all was prepared. Ce set out on the
pretense of going to play with another child his own age, and began roaming
the streets in search of clues to the mouse's whereabouts.
* * *
A few hours later, a lone chicken strutted down
a shadowy alleyway and came upon a dejected and lonesome boy. The good
fowl was struck to the heart, sat her plump personage down next to him,
and began questioning him. After about five minutes, the chicken had extracted
from Cecil (for indeed it was he, as you, dear Reader, may have suspected)
his business in those parts and met with his ears some good news.
"Why, I saw the very mouse just ten very minutes
ago on the very sidewalk, down this very street."
At these wonderful words of encouragement, Ce sprang
to his feet and rushed off, profusely thanking the flustered hen in the
process.
Sure enough, when he got to the aforementioned bit
of sidewalk, one lonely and dejected mouse was in evidence. Ce shouted
an enthusiastic greeting and rushed at him. The aged mouse waved and smiled
to his tiptoes. After a friendly reunion, they returned home paw in...
well, toe. Indeed, it took quite a few hours to arrive there, allowing
for Sir Francis' height, or lack thereof, since he blatantly refused to
be carried. But eventually they did complete their journey, and from then
on Sir Francis was more or less content with the extent of his travels
being a sojourn on Cecil's rug.
END
Please review, I hope these two stories have served to entertain you.