The Mouse Store

Sophie sighed, and of course her grandpa heard. This usually meant he was going to tell a story.


“What is it?” he asked, chopping carrots for dinner.

“Oh, I’m just bored,” Sophie replied. She was swinging her legs under the kitchen table, head propped on her hands.

Her grandpa looked thoughtful for a moment, “Here’s something for you to do. We still need dessert.”

“You mean I have to make dessert?” Sophie asked.

“No, it’s more fun than that. I was thinking cinnamon cakes would go well with soup. And the mouse store has the best cinnamon cakes.” He seemed to find what he said perfectly normal as he scraped celery into a pot.

“The mouse store?”

“Of course. Come here,” her grandpa said, pointing out the kitchen window. It took Sophie a minute to find it. The mountains and forests around the house were the bright green of spring, and a large rock jutted out of the side of a hill far in the distance. “Underneath that rock is the mouse store.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he said mysteriously.

“That’s not helpful.”

“Mmmm. It’s a store. Run by mice.”

“Oh, really,” Sophie giggled, “what do they sell?”

“Crackers, cheese, cakes, nuts, and berries.”

Sophie pondered this. Her mind was tied between trusting her grandpa and the sense of no way this could be possible.


“So, the mice can talk?” she asked.

“Of course, how else would they run the store?”

“And this is real.”

“Yep.” He stirred the pot on the stove. When Sophie didn’t say anything, he looked at her. He was trying to see if she believed him.

“Okay, so you pay them in wildflowers, or something silly like that.” Sophie had decided confidently to believe.

“I’m sure the mice would accept that. But they usually use regular coins,” her grandpa said, setting down bowls of soup at the table.

Sophie looked out the window. The sky had turned from brilliant blue to dusky purple during their conversation. She and her grandpa shared a grin.

“Sounds like an adventure for tomorrow.”