“And what about Peter? Oh, do you think Peter's still safe and sound in his bed?”
“I'm sure they haven't stolen Peter. Stop being such a ninny, and let me get back to sleep!”
Impossible. Mrs. van D. was too scared to sleep. A few nights later the entire van Daan family was awakened by ghostly noises.
Peter went to the attic with a flashlight and -- scurry, scurry -- what do you think he saw running away?
A whole slew of enormous rats! Once we knew who the thieves were,
we let Mouschi sleep in the attic and never saw our uninvited guests again... at least not at night.
A few evenings ago (it was seven-thirty and still light), Peter went up to the loft to get some old newspapers.
He had to hold on tightly to the trapdoor to climb down the ladder.
He put down his hand without looking, and nearly fell off the ladder from shock and pain.
Without realizing it, he'd put his hand on a large rat, which had bitten him in the arm.
By the time he reached us, white as a sheet and with his knees knocking, the blood had soaked through his pajamas.
No wonder he was so shaken, since petting a rat isn't much fun, especially when it takes a chunk out of your arm. “Yours, Anne”
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