Jacks and the Mouse

 A daffodil grew just outside Jacks' window, looking full and round and of the creamiest yellow. As Jacks stared at it, she noticed that it started to quiver, once, then twice, then a whole bunch of times.

    Jacks hurried outside to see what could possible be causing such a beautiful flower to shake.

    Peering inside the cup of the daffodil, Jacks saw a little mouse curled in a small heap at the base of the flower, breathing small, belabored breaths. With each breath, the flower quivered. And Jacks could tell very quickly, that the mouse was not at all well.

    'Help!' squeaked the mouse, much to Jacks surprise, for she had never heard a mouse talk before. 

    'What is the matter?' Jacks asked as quietly as the mouse had squeaked, so as not to startle the small creature.

    'My paw, it aches so. Please help me,' the mouse squeaked again, gesturing to a leg that looked particularly red and swollen.

    Jacks bent closer, and, raising the paw gently, saw that it was very injured indeed. Carefully, Jacks lifted the tiny mouse into her hands, and carried her inside. Working as delicately as she could, she constructed a tiny splint made from twigs and dental floss, placed it about the mouse's injury, and set the mouse down on her own soft pillow to sleep so that Jacks could watch over her in the night.

    In the morning, when Jacks looked over at the pillow, the little mouse had gone! And there had not been a word of either farewell or thanks. Jacks felt her face fall, wishing she could have seen her little friend off. All the same, it didn't matter the thanks: she would do it all again, anyway.

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