Prologue: Mailbag Mischief It was late in Little Ditch when a door in the post office opened, just a crack. A long whiskery snout poked through and sniffed the air SNIFF SNIFF The room smelled empty, so the snout--which was attached to a hairy body with a long pink tail--stepped inside. Two hairy feet with uncut claws TIP TAPPED across the wooden floor. TIP TAP TIP TAP The feet crept over to a mailbag in the corner of the room. The bag was stuffed full of packages and letters that had been sorted earlier in the day. Quick as a whisker, a hairy paw dropped two more packages into the bag. Then the hairy feet TIP TAPPED TIP TAP TIP TAP across the wooden floor, through the door, and disappeared into the night . An act of first-class mailbag mischief had just been committed.
Chapter One: Don''t Lose A Whisker Marty''s BIG day was finally here! He was about to start his first-ever job, as Mailmouse of Little Ditch. He had to report to the post office in Thorny Thickett at 8 a.m. sharp. If you''ve never been, Thorny Thickett is up over Mount Pheasant, past Badger''s Bog, under Creepy Willow, and right Round-the-Bend. If you end up in Foggy Forest, you''ve gone too far--and you''ll want to get out QUICK! Marty was prepared. He had practiced his whistle, ironed his uniform, and combed his whiskers. He had polished his buttons so well that he could see his reflection in them.
Even so, his belly was filled with jitters. Then it rumbled. Ravenous rascals! Marty thought. I must be hungry! Marty scampered toward the kitchen but came to a stop in front of a portrait of his great-aunt Ada. She was known as the GREATEST MAILMOUSE WHO EVER LIVED after she was carried off by an owl on Christmas Eve, stuffed into a pie, and almost cooked at 350 degrees for 90 minutes. A well-timed power outage had allowed her to escape, and she''d still delivered her Christmas cards with time to spare for a slice of blueberry pie. Marty took a deep breath. "Ooh, whimpering whistles! I hope I''m as good as you were, Great-Aunt Ada.
" Marty had a small family (by mouse standards): twenty-seven brothers, eleven sisters, nine aunts (some great, some not so great), fourteen uncles (three others had unfortunately been swallowed whole by a cat named Wiggles), two grandmothers, three grandfathers, approximately 142 cousins (exact number unknown), one mother, and one father. Only his great-aunt Ada had ever been a mailmouse, though. Until she''d hung up her mailbag last year and retired to Snoring-on-Sea. And today it was Marty''s turn. Breakfast in Marty''s house was a VERY chaotic affair. He ducked, dodged, and clambered over to a pile of his mother''s freshly baked bread. It was disappearing FAST! He grabbed the last two slices, slathered them with strawberry jam, and--when his mother''s back was turned--added a generous sprinkling of sugar. Marty opened his mouth wide and bit down .
on thin air. The sandwich--HIS sandwich--had been swiped out of his paws and swiftly popped into the mouth of his older brother Milo. "Oh, FIDDLESTAMPS!" Marty exclaimed as his brother walked out the back door, waving smugly. "Marty! There you are!" His dad was bounding through the mayhem, carrying a brown paper bag. Marty''s twin baby brothers were glued to each hip. "I made you a packed lunch for your first day! Cheese sandwiches, a cheese muffin, and cheesy chips." Creeping caterpillars! Marty HATED cheese. It made his whiskers turn green.
But so many mice living together in one house meant that his dad often confused who liked what. "MARTY''S OFF, EVERYONE!" his dad hollered. Eeeeeek. Marty had been hoping to slip out the back door without a fuss. "Marty''s ALWAYS off," his sister Muriel snarked. "He smells like rotten cheese." "That''s enough, Muriel!" Marty''s mother scolded. "Remember your whistle.
" "Avoid Tank''s Turf." "Wach out for bandits.and cats!" "Don''t venture into Foggy Forest." "Careful of mousetraps." "And whatever you do, DON''T LOSE A WHISKER!" Baffling blackberries , Marty thought. I''m only delivering letters! How hard can it be?.