The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse

At the edge of a golden wheat field stood a little stone wall. Inside the wall, beneath the roots of an old apple tree, lived a Country Mouse named Clover.

Clover’s home was small, but it was warm and dry. Her bed was lined with thistledown. Her table was made from a smooth piece of bark. Through a round window, she could watch the stars appear over the fields each night.

One afternoon, a letter arrived inside a curled leaf.

“Dear Clover,” it read. “I am coming to visit. I cannot wait to see how you live in the country. Your cousin, Pip.”

Pip was the Town Mouse. He lived far away among tall houses, busy streets and chiming clocks.

Clover had not seen him since they were very young.

“A visitor!” she cried. “I must prepare a feast.”

Supper beneath the apple tree

Clover gathered the finest food she could find. She chose three plump acorns, a handful of barley, a slice of sweet apple and several fresh peas. She filled two tiny cups with cool spring water.

Just before sunset, there came a neat tap at the door.

Pip stood outside wearing a blue jacket and a tiny red bow tie. He carried a polished walking stick and a little traveling case.

“Cousin Clover!” he said. “How peaceful it is here. I could hear the birds all the way down the lane.”

Clover hugged him and showed him around. Pip admired the round window, the thistledown bed and the shelf of smooth pebbles Clover had collected from the stream.

Then they sat down to supper.

“Everything is fresh,” Clover said proudly. “The apple fell this morning, and I picked the peas myself.”

Pip nibbled one grain of barley. Then he tried half a pea.

“Very… natural,” he said.

Clover noticed that he was looking around for something else.

“Do you not like it?” she asked.

“Oh, it is pleasant,” said Pip. “But in town we dine on soft bread, creamy cheese, cake crumbs and fruit from silver dishes. You should visit me tomorrow. Then you will see a real supper.”

Clover looked at her apple slice. A moment ago, it had seemed like a treat. Now it appeared rather plain.

“I would like to see the town,” she said.

The road to town

The cousins left early the next morning.

At first, the path wound between quiet hedges. Soon, carts rattled past. Bells rang. Doors opened and shut. Boots hurried over the stones.

Clover stared up at buildings so tall that they seemed to hold up the sky.

“Does it ever become quiet?” she asked.

“You grow used to the excitement,” Pip replied. “Come along. Wait until you see my dining room.”

Pip led her through a narrow opening beneath a grand town house. They climbed behind the walls, crossed a beam and slipped through a small crack beside a cupboard.

Beyond it was the largest dining room Clover had ever seen.

A long table rose above them like a wooden hill. The people of the house had finished a celebration, but no one had cleared the dishes yet.

There were crumbs of warm bread, pieces of cheese, sugared nuts, purple grapes and a wedge of pear that smelled sweeter than any fruit in Clover’s orchard.

“Welcome,” said Pip, spreading his paws, “to town.”

A magnificent feast

The mice climbed the carved leg of the table and hurried across the cloth.

Clover tasted a crumb of cake. It melted on her tongue.

“Oh!” she said. “I have never eaten anything like this.”

Pip rolled a grape toward her. Together they pushed it into a tiny silver bowl and laughed when it bounced back out.

They sampled cheese, pear and the smallest dab of jam. Clover began to think Pip had been right. Town life seemed wonderful.

Then the dining-room door flew open.

Two people rushed in, talking loudly. Their footsteps shook the floor. Pip grabbed Clover’s paw.

“Quick!”

They darted behind a tall candlestick. A hand swept away the bread. A plate clattered. Clover held her breath until the people finally carried several dishes out and closed the door.

“That was close,” she whispered.

“It happens,” Pip said. “Now, where were we?”

He found another piece of cheese. Clover took one bite.

A deep mrrrow sounded from the window.

On the sill sat a large black cat.

The fastest mice in town

The cat’s green eyes fixed on the cousins.

Pip dropped the cheese.

“Run!”

The cat sprang onto the table. Cups rattled and spoons jumped as the mice raced between the dishes.

Clover followed Pip around a bowl, beneath a folded napkin and straight toward the edge.

“Down!” he called.

They slid along the tablecloth, landed on a chair and leaped to the floor. Behind them came a thump as the cat followed.

Pip squeezed through the narrow crack by the cupboard. Clover tumbled in after him just as a soft black paw reached across the floor.

The cousins ran through the wall passage until they reached Pip’s little room. They leaned against the door, breathing hard.

For a while, neither mouse spoke.

At last Pip straightened his jacket.

“The cat will leave soon,” he said. “Then we can return for the sugared nuts.”

Clover stared at him.

“Return?”

“Of course. We barely tasted the pear.”

Different kinds of treasure

Clover thought of her quiet home beneath the apple tree. She remembered the breeze in the wheat, the cool spring water and the way moonlight filled her round window.

Her barley was plain. Her table was small. But no boots shook the ceiling while she ate, and no cat waited beside the window.

“Pip,” she said gently, “your feast is finer than mine, but I cannot enjoy it when I am frightened at every sound.”

Pip looked surprised. “You would choose barley over cake?”

“I would choose a peaceful supper that tastes like home.”

Pip sat beside her.

“The town sounds trouble you,” he said. “But the country is so quiet that I cannot sleep. We may simply like different things.”

Clover smiled. “Then neither of us needs to prove that our home is best for every mouse.”

Pip packed her a small bread crumb for the journey. Clover promised that when he visited again, she would find the sweetest apple in the orchard.

“And perhaps,” Pip said, “I will bring a little cheese.”

Home again

By evening, Clover was back beneath the old apple tree.

She set her bark table with barley, peas and half of Pip’s bread crumb. Outside, crickets chirped in the grass.

Her supper did not glitter beneath candles. No silver dishes stood nearby. Yet every bite tasted better because she could eat without fear.

Clover had enjoyed seeing the town. She was glad Pip loved his lively home, just as she loved her quiet one. The visit had taught her that a grand life is not always a comfortable life—and that another person’s treasure does not have to become your own.

From then on, when Clover saw the stars through her little round window, she did not think her home was plain.

She thought it was peaceful.

And peaceful was exactly right for her.

If you enjoyed this fable about choosing what truly suits you, read The Fox and the Grapes for a story about honest feelings, or The Tortoise and the Hare for another classic tale about knowing your own pace.