"That 's my wig, sir!" said Johnny Sprigg, "and you shall pay for it, or I 'll have the law on you. Are you the man who shot the duck here yesterday morning?" "I am, sir," answered the little man, proud that he had shot something besides a wig. "Well, you shall pay for that also," said Mr. Sprigg; "for it belonged to me, and I 'll have the money or I 'll put you in jail!" The little man did not want to go to jail, so with a heavy heart he paid for the wig and the duck, and then took his way sorrowfully homeward. He did not tell Joan of his meeting with Mr. Sprigg; he only said he could not find a drake. But she knew all about it when the paper came out, for this is what it said on the front page: There was a little man and he had a little gun, And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead. He shot Johnny Sprigg through the middle of his wig, And knocked it right off from his head, head, head. The little man was so angry at this, and at the laughter of all the men he met, that he traded his gun off for a lawn-mower, and resolved never to go hunting again. He had the little duck he had shot made into a pie, and he and Joan ate it; but he did not enjoy it very much. "This duck cost me twelve dollars," he said to his loving wife, "for that is the sum Johnny Sprigg made me pay; and it 's a very high price for one little duck--do n't you think so, Joan?" Hickory, Dickory, Dock Hickory, Dickory, Dock Hickory, Dickory, Dock! The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hickory, Dickory, Dock! Within the hollow wall of an old brick mansion, away up near the roof, there lived a family of mice. It was a snug little home, pleasant and quiet, and as dark as any mouse could desire. Mamma Mouse liked it because, as she said, the draught that came through the rafters made it cool in summer, and they were near enough to the chimney to keep