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Notch was puzzled by the quietness of the common room as he woke up. His little burrow by the fireplace was snug and warm and he almost shrugged off the lack of talking and feet scuffling along the floor and went back to sleep. But he was a curious mouse at heart.
He poked his little nose out sniffing for the smells of supper. Faint it was. Daring a further venture he eased out his head and looked about with his bright black eyes. Except for a few of the old fellows who were permanent fixtures at the Inn, the room was empty.
Eyes and ears alert; little feet scurrying along the wooden floor, Notch made for the door.
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But the place that draws me ever/When my fancy's running wild,/Is a little pub in Oxford/Called The Eagle and the Child . . .
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