A Nest for Celeste by Henry Cole Page A

another mountain: a draped sheet.

    Celeste crawled under the old sheet and blinked. In the musty shadows she saw—or did she see?—a tiny, mouse-sized chair. And was that a miniature tasseled pillow? Amid a confused jumble of chair legs and patterned fabrics Celeste could discern what lookedto be a complete and perfect dining room…made for a mouse!
    There were tiny, ornate picture frames, carved and beveled, holding tiny pictures: a still life, a portrait, a country landscape. Clustered around a tiny dining table were several chairs, each with a needlepoint seat.
    Celeste made her way past a corner cabinet with glass doors; she puffed on a pane and wiped it gingerly with her paw. Inside she saw plates and cups and saucers, pieces from a blue-and-white china set. Opening a cabinet door below, she found what looked to be a tablecloth.
    She passed through a doorway and entered another room. The light was a little better here, and she noted the lavender-striped wallpaper.
    “This must be the living room,” she whispered. A beautiful sofa, just her size, covered in maroon velvet, lay on its back. Two chairs and several small tables were also overturned. A fireplace and mantel hadbeen artfully painted on one wall. Over it was the oval portrait of a young girl; her face looked familiar. A set of stairs in one corner of the living room led to another story above.
    Celeste climbed the stairs and then tiptoed her way into a bedroom. As with the rooms below, the contents here were also tossed about and covered in dust: a small bed and nightstand, an oval hooked rug, and a ladder-back chair painted orange. A washbasin and pitcher lay on the floor. Next to the bed was another door.
    Celeste passed reverently into the last room.

    Through the dim light she saw an enormous four-poster bed covered with a soft, pink blanket. Two satin pillows were trimmed in tiny lace ribbon. Beside the bed was a small table draped with a lace cloth. Against one wall stood a wooden armoire with flowers and vines painted up the sides and on each door. A large, overstuffed chair sat perched on a small rug. The walls were covered in flowery wallpaper, makingCeleste feel as though she were in a magical garden.
    “This is the most beautiful room that has ever been,” she murmured to herself.
    The bed looked comfy and inviting; Celeste ran her hand along the soft blanket and then crawled up. The bed was stuffed with cotton bolls, and she sank blissfully into it, head plopped onto a silk pillow.
    “I’ve found home ,” she said to herself. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.” She smiled and fell asleep.
    And indeed, it was a lovely nest for a mouse.

 
     
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Housecleaning
    T he draped sheet over Celeste’s new home made it feel close and dim, dusty and airless. She scampered to the floor and pondered.
    Gathering a corner of the sheet in her mouth, she bit tightly. With claws gripping the rough oak floorboards, she leaned forward and pulled fiercely. Slowly the dusty sheet moved with her, inch by inch. Finally, in a rush of fragile and yellowing cotton, it slipped into a pile in front of the dollhouse, producing a haze of dust.

    Celeste began straightaway to clean and make order of her new home. Now that the house was bright and cheery, and its contents easy to see, she could open drawers, explore cabinets, shake out linens, polish brass, shine crockery, and sweep floors.
    And that she did. She made a small broom using feathers from the old mattresses and a rag from a bit of mattress ticking. Soon the floors and walnut staircase glowed. She dusted and polished the chandelier and glass cabinet doors.
    An inventory of the dining-room cabinet revealed a lace tablecloth, four china plates with matching cups and saucers, and a china serving platter. In one drawer Celeste found several tiny candles, partially melted from the summer heat in the attic.
    She pulled one of the chairs from the living room out onto the windowsill. The