had taken the spool out of the bag； he'd had eyes for nothing else。 I rolled it across the shed's uneven； splintery floor； and he was after it at once。 He didn't run with his old speed； and his limp was painful to watch； but why should he have been either fast or surefooted？ As I've said； he was old； a Methuselah of a mouse。 Sixty…four； at least。
He reached the spool； which struck the far wall and bounced back。 He went around it； then lay down on his side。 Elaine started forward and I held her back。 After a moment； Mr。 Jingles found his feet again。 Slowly； so slowly； he nosed the spool back to me。 When he'd first e … I'd found him lying on the steps leading to the kitchen in just that same way； as if he'd travelled a long distance and was exhausted … he had still been able to guide the spool with his paws； as he had done all those years ago on the Green Mile。 That was beyond him； now； his hindquarters would no longer support him。 Yet his nose was as educated as ever。 He just had to go from one end of the spool to the other to keep it on course。 When he reached me； I picked him up in one hand … no more than a feather； he weighed … and the spool in the other。 His bright dark eyes never left it。
〃Don't do it again； Paul；〃 Elaine said in a broken voice。 〃I can't bear to watch him。〃
I understood how she felt； but thought she was wrong to ask it。 He loved chasing and fetching the spool； after all the years； he still loved it just as much。 We should all be so f