Once upon a time there was a cunning little chipmunk by the name of Timothy Trotalong Toolittle. He got his middle name because he was always in motion, hardly ever stopping to consider anything. Timothy just wanted to keep moving, and he hated to stand still. This sometimes got him into trouble because he was so impatient he failed to listen to all the clues and signals placed before him, and often he went the wrong way and got lost.

When Timothy graduated from Mrs. Bradstreet's School for Chipmunks, his teacher told him, "Timothy, now is your chance to be a success. But you are going to have to slow down a little and make good choices from now on." She took him by the shoulders, smiled, and spoke softly, "Stop once and a while and think about what direction you should take. You'll do better that way." She gave him a hug, and off he went.






Timothy became excited as he sped along the path away from town. Everything was new to him, and something inside filled him with hope that things were going to turn out well.

Suddenly he came upon a tree with a sign pointing left that said, "Get a job now-- make money." He started to run off to the left, and then he remembered what his teacher said, and looked again. There was a second sign that pointed right. That one said, "Go to college now-- study hard."

He paused for a moment, and then made the right choice-- he chose to go to college because he felt that this would give him an opportunity to learn much more money over the course of his lifetime.



The pathway began to head up a hill. In the distance Timothy could see tall buildings, and he knew it was a college. He began to see himself as a student there, and he broke into a trot. But it was a long way off, and there was a dark forest that he had to go through before he could get there. He entered the forest.

Just then he was joined by Squiggly the Squirrel and Roberto the Rabbit. "Hey, where ya goin'?," asked Squiggly.

"I think I'll go to that college," answered Timothy. "I'm going off to apply now."

"Why would you do that, silly guy. It's too late. Give it up. You should have applied last spring." Squiggly gave him a slap on the back with his long tail.

Then Roberto bounced in, "It may not be too late. Why not give it a try? Maybe you can still get in."

Squiggly laughed. "You'd do better to get a job and earn money to pay for it. You'll never get financial aid at this late date. Earn some money and then go next year."

Timothy thought for a moment and then made the right decision. He felt that Roberto was probably giving him the best advice. So Timothy decided right then and there to try and go to college.
Squiggly laughed again at the decision Timothy made, but Roberto gave him a wink and said, "Good luck, my friend." Then his two companions ran off into the woods to play just as quickly as they had joined him earlier.

Timothy looked at the pathway ahead. It was covered with leaves and a little hard to see, but he decided to plod ahead. He had made up his mind, and that was that-- he was going to college by hook or by crook!

Soon the path turned to the left, and he came upon a large rock. Someone had written a message on it. It said, "Why not fill out an application now? Don't wait until you get to the college." Resting on top of the rock were two piles of application forms-- one for admission and one for financial aid.



Timothy really didn't want to fill out the forms just then-- he wanted to move on down the trail. He thought it might be better to do all that when he got to the school and could get help in filling out the forms. After a moment of reflection, he decided to fill in the forms right away. If he put off doing that, it might never get done-- better to get it taken care of now!


 

 After completing the forms, Timothy set them back on top of the rock. Just then a U.S. Postal Service carrier pigeon came by and scooped them up. With a flap of her wings she saluted Timothy and flew off to deliver his forms to the appropriate places. Timothy felt good that his application forms were on their way, and he skipped happily along down the path.

Suddenly it seemed that there was no way to go. The path had disappeared and was nowhere to be seen. Leaves covered everything, and he didn't know which way to turn. "Now you've done it," he said out loud. "Timothy Trotalong Toolittle-- you've gotten yourself lost!" He felt a cold chill as the evening darkness began to set in. There was an empty feeling in his stomach.

"Now you've done it. Now you've done it. Now you've done it!" Timothy began hearing the phrase over and over again. Was he going mad?


 

 "Awrrrk, now you've done it!"

"Wait a minute, I didn't say that," he said to himself. Timothy looked up, and there, high in the branches, hidden among the leaves, was a great, shaggy bird. It was actually a parrot, but it was grey all over, not colorful like those he had seen before. At that moment it flew down and landed next to Timothy.

"Awrrrk, hi there. My name's Awrrrk. I suppose you're Timothy Trotalong Toolittle. Why so glum? Why so glum?"

Explaining that he was lost, Timothy started to shiver.

"No problem, no problem," said the parrot. "You're not lost. You're found! I found you, I found you." It didn't make Timothy feel any better. But the old parrot just kept on talking.

"What you need is a summer job. Yes, you need a summer job. No, maybe not. No, you need to have the summer off-- you've already worked hard enough in school. You need a break before college begins in the fall. I don't know, maybe you should work. No, maybe you should rest up. The truth's in there somewhere. Awrrrk."

Timothy thought for a moment. Should he work or not? He made his decision right then and there to look for a summer job.



Suddenly Timothy realized he was standing in the middle of a busy street-- horses and chariots were streaking past him on either side, and there was a roadster bearing down on him at that very moment.

He hopped over a mud puddle and ran under a lamppost with utmost haste as the roadster splashed on by through the puddle, horn honking, and dousing him fully with the muddy brew.

The loan application packet was all covered with grass stains and mud, but since the form itself was nestled in the middle of a packet of instructions and other materials, it was still clean enough to use.



"Awrrrrrrk, I brought him here, just like you said, just like you said. Awrrrrrrk." Awrrrk nudged Timothy forward with his beak. Then Awrrrk whispered in Timothy's ear, "He's the Work Wizard. Be careful what you say."

"Well there, Timothy, my chip. So you want to go to college. Ha, that can be arranged! But now you want a job. Ah, yes, you want a job, do you. We'll see about that!" He seemed a little mad to Timothy, who wasn't sure he could trust this guy-- he seemed to be all points-- pointed hat, pointed nose, pointed chin. Even his fingers were pointed.

"Ye- ye- yes, sir. I need to earn some money for college."

"It's money you want, is it? Ha, there's an easier way, don't you know? Just give me $40, and I'll give you a list of scholarships you can get. Money back guarantee. Yes, gimme $40 and I'll give you the world."

It did seem like perhaps he had overlooked the idea of getting a scholarship. He thought about it for a minute, and then he decided what to do (click on wizard to pay $40 for a scholarship search; click on Awrrrk to go to work now).



"OK, my chip, it's off to work with you. Your job-- flylighter! Most people think fireflies light themselves, but that's not so. We send out flylighters all over the land, and they light up the fireflies every evening at dusk, making sure they are kept lit all night." The Work Wizard handed him a magic torch. "Use this torch and touch each fly you see. Ha, I'll be watching to be sure you don't miss any. Every week I'll give you 30% of what you earn for spending and put aside the rest for your education. You can rest here for the night, but then you're off in the morning on the path to college again."

Timothy shook paw to hand, " Thank you, sir. I'll be a good buglighter, you'll see!"

All of a sudden there was an angry buzzing from all around the cave, and the fireflies were blinking and streaking round and around. They were most agitated. "You're a FLYLIGHTER, not a buglighter. These flyboys don't consider themselves to be bugs. Best you understand that right now."

Timothy looked up. "Sorry, fellas. Flies it is, and great ones at that!" It seemed to calm them down. He spent much of the night getting to know all the flies and all about their heroic adventures. He even lit a few during the night that needed recharging, learning how to do three in a carefully guided sweep.










In the morning Timothy set out on his journey again. He had his job, and he felt confident all would go well. For three days he walked along, lighting fireflies by night and making distance by day.

On the afternoon of the third day, he saw his friend the carrier pigeon. In her beak she held a letter for Timothy from the Admissions Office. She dropped it into Timothy's hand and glided to the ground to rest a moment. Timothy tore open the letter.

His eyes scanned the page for the important words he wanted to see-- "You are admitted" -- there it was, he knew he was in. "Hooray," he shouted, and he stuffed the letter in his pocket. He felt surely his future was secured as long as he acted promptly in accepting the admission offer.



Timothy quickly filled out the information card, included a check for the enrollment deposit to save him a space at UWSP and gave it to the carrier pigeon to take with her. "What's your name, anyway?" asked Timothy.

"What would you expect? Carrie the carrier, of course," she answered abruptly. "And I haven't got time to chat with chips-- there's mail to deliver!" With a flutter, she was off again.

"Well, that's done," thought Timothy. "Now maybe I'm all set." Then off he trotted, over hill and dale, across potato fields, and along the river. All of Central Wisconsin seemed to welcome him as he bounded along with white-tailed deer and through flocks of sandhill cranes. Along the river, the beaver slapped their tails to greet him, and the walleye flipped their fins "hello." It was beginning to get a little corny, but he didn't care-- he was on his way to college, and Stevens Point seemed like a great place to be. This town, this college-- it had everything.

Then it occurred to him, "Whoa, what if I don't get enough aid? What if I never ever hear from them?" He worried about this for a week wondering what the outcome would be. All he could do was wait until he heard from them. Timothy was glad he had sent in his application early-- surely he would hear soon.


"Carrie the carrier here," the voice came from on high, and then another letter flitted down to Timothy as the pigeon did a loop and was gone, save a few feathers that became dislodged during her acrobatics-- one landed on Timothy's nose.

What was it? Timothy picked it up. "A letter from, from the Financial Aid Office." He opened it in a flash. It looked complicated at first-- a letter he obviously had to sign and return, an application form of some sort-- "Oh, I see-- it's a loan application-- I've got to fill that out too."

Immediately, Timothy began to read the materials more carefully, and to consider what was being offered to him. Did he want to take loans? How much should he borrow? That was the biggest concern, and he gave it some deep thought, deciding that it would be worth it to take out some loans if that was the way he could get his education.


Timothy signed the award letter and placed it in an envelope to be sent to the UWSP Financial Aid Office. He then taped it to his back, hoping that Carrie would see it on her next fly-by. He decided to take the full amount of loans offered and completed the loan application for a Stafford Loan. Reading the instructions, he saw a recommendation that he take the loan application to a lender that would process the loan by an "electronic fund transfer" (EFT) process-- this would speed things along even more quickly. That was the next thing he had to do-- find an EFT lender.

So along he went, looking a little silly with the letter taped to his back and dragging the large loan application with his hind paw. He hoped he would find a good lender soon.

"I see you." Swoop, peck, ouch. Carrie had spotted him, diving down to grab the letter off Timothy's back. He lost a few hairs off his back when the tape was ripped off.

"Thanks, Carrie," he shouted. Another task completed. Now the loan was all that had to be taken care of. He wanted to skip along in all his excitement, but that was a little hard to do while clinging on to the loan application. But soon he came to a grassy slope that went all the way down to the little village of Knox Fortville-- surely there would be a bank there!


Timothy set the loan application on the ground at the top of the slope and sat on it. Then with a shove of his front paws, he shot down the hill. "We're off to see the lender, the wonderful lender of Knox," Timothy sang out as he slid along down the hill, past forest and trees, under fences (good thing he was so tiny), and around large Ice Age boulders.

"Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeee..." Timothy could see the edge of a cliff up ahead, and he was heading right for it-- no way to stop. He reached the end of the grassy area and was now bumping along a path of pebbles... Then suddenly all was quiet, and he was airborne, drifting down to the little town below.



 "Awrrrrrrk, what'cha doin', what'cha doin'. Tryin' to fly? Tryin' to fly?" It was Awrrrk.

"Noooooooo, just trying to hang on..." Timothy's ears were being blown back as he assumed a dive-bombing position.

Awrrrk slid under Timothy just in time and glided down to the center of the main street in the town. "Awrrrrrrk, looks like you need a lesson in flyin', a lesson in flyin'."

"I need lessons, all right, but I don't think they'll be in flying. I guess I have to decide pretty soon though what I'll be studying when I get to the University. Thanks, Awrrrk."


There was a little too much commotion on the street for Awrrrk. "Well, good luck-- I'm outa here, I'm outa here, Awrrrrrrk" With a flutter of his wings, he took off to a nearby roof gable.

Timothy began to think about what he ought to study. He wondered, should he pick a course of study right away, not wasting time with unrelated courses, or should he wait and make his choice in a later year? He decided that he needed more information and more time to determine what courses to study. He would wait until he could find someone on campus to help him make course choices once he got there.


Suddenly Timothy realized he was standing in the middle of a busy street-- horses and chariots were streaking past him on either side, and there was a roadster bearing down on him at that very moment.

He hopped over a mud puddle and ran under a lamppost with utmost haste as the roadster splashed on by through the puddle, horn honking, and dousing him fully with the muddy brew.

The loan application packet was all covered with grass stains and mud, but since the form itself was nestled in the middle of a packet of instructions and other materials, it was still clean enough to use.


Timothy sat down under the lamppost and filled out the form right then and there. He looked at all the awards he had been offered -- a grant, a job, and a loan, and decided he would take a little less loan than what was offered. He could do that because he was saving so much money from his nighttime flylighter job. He wrote on the application the amount he wanted to borrow, answered the other questions on the form and signed it.

Then he hopped up and looked down the street for a good lender to borrow from. Right there on the same block were a bank, a savings and loan association, and a credit union-- any one would do, or would it? He wondered what he should consider in choosing a good lender. One had a sign in the window that said "EFT lender", another said "we won't sell your loan to somebody else." Timothy wondered which lender to go to, but something inside him gave him the answer, and he decided to the most important thing was to be assurred that his loan would be processed swiftly. He figured out that EFT stood for "electronic fund transfer", and that helped him make the choice. If he chose the EFT lender, he would get the money he needed quickly.


After making his choice of lender to visit, Timothy bounded up the steps, trotted into the marble and glass building and asked to see a loan officer. He was directed to Felicity Fieldmouse, whom he found to be most attractive. She welcomed him in, "Have a seat, Mr. Toolittle. I see you want to take out a college loan. Is that your application form?"

Timothy blushed. What must she think? He tried to rub off some of the mud before handing the loan application to her-- she was so pretty, how could he hand her such a messy thing! "It's, it's a little dirty..."

Felicity smiled, "My, but you must have had quite a difficult time getting here. By the looks of your loan application, you're lucky to be alive! Here, let me see it."





Timothy gave the application a final quick wipe with his tail and handed it to her and then said valiantly, "No barrier could keep me from this appointed moment." The words came to him just in time.


"Oh, you are so gallant. You can be sure I will give your application my personal attention-- your loan will be processed immediately and ready at the college when you get there. Good luck and much success to you Mr. Toolittle." She leaned forward and patted his paw. "You know, I'm a student at the University also-- I'm working here this summer and saving all I can to help me meet my costs there. Do you have a job, Mr. Toolittle?"

Timothy was smitten. "Why yes. I, er, I work, I mean..." He swallowed. "I'm a flyflighter."

"My, you're a flylighter! What an important job! I've never met a flylighter before. It must be very hard work. Oh, how I would love to watch you light the fireflies. How exciting! It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Toolittle." She held out her paw.

Timothy shook her paw. "Maybe we'll meet again. Perhaps I'll see you at the University. When will you be leaving for school?"

She smiled, "Oh, yes, Mr. Toolittle. Let's get together on campus. I'll be heading up there at the end of the month. My parents will take me there by eagle claw lift-- it should only take a day for us to get there that way. Is that how you're going also?"

"No, I, er,... I'm going along the path, ... by myself."

"Oh my, that's such a hard way to get there. You are so brave. Oh, I do look forward to seeing you again when I get there. Good luck, Mr. Toolittle."

Timothy floated out of the building as if gliding on air. Everything was taken care of, he was set to go, he had an important job, and he had met a beautiful coed. Wow, was this truly the start of something great, or what? He swung his fist in the air, "Yes!" Then he pranced along the sidewalk toward the woods where he would soon begin his work with the fireflies.

The sun was setting, and the evening sky was filled with color. He had a long way to go, but nothing could stop him now. He was sure of it.


Weeks passed, and Timothy worked his way along the path, each day making progress toward his goal of reaching the University. Some of the nights were cold, and he had to wrap himself with corn husk sheathings to keep warm as he made his flylighting rounds. Hard rains made the path muddy at times, so much so that he had to detour away from it to avoid drowning in the pools of water that had formed. Mosquitoes plagued him with their incessant buzzing around his face, and he had to keep swishing them away with his tail-- that tired him out immensely, but he plodded on.

Finally, at the end of the summer Timothy arrived at the University of Wisconsin - Stevens Point. The day he arrived it seemed the whole world was there. Folks from all over were coming into town -- by paw, by slither snake slideride, by bunny bounce bounders, and by eagle claw lift. They were moving into the residence halls and getting ready to check in.

 

 Timothy scampered up the big campus sign that stood on the large lawn in front of the campus. From there he could get a good view of the original "Old Main" building. There was so much history to this place-- he felt like he was about to join forces with a long line of folks that had studied here over the last century. Then he spotted the Student Services Center.

"Ah-ha, that's the place I should go first." Timothy hopped off the sign and bounded for the Admissions Office to get a college catalog describing all the courses offered and a Timetable of courses listing the times all the courses are scheduled to meet. He entered the building and quickly found the Admissions Office.


"Can you help me?" Timothy asserted himself boldly. "I'm a new student, and I need a catalog and a Timetable-- I'm going to register for my classes."

The kindly lady owl looked down to see Timothy standing on his hind legs, looking as tall as he possibly could. A sign on her desk identified her as Mrs. Hoot-ti-hoo. "Well, hello there. I didn't see you slip in. What's your name?"

"Timothy Trotalong Toolittle, that's Toolittle with two o's and three t's, but there's no need to tease me." Timothy was feeling a little clever at the moment about his little rhyme.

"You look like an upright young fellow," she said as she clicked his file up on the computer. "I wouldn't think of teasing you. I see here that you didn't attend the freshmen orientation-- that's when most of our freshmen register for their courses in the first semester. What happened?"

Timothy explained that he had spent the whole summer getting there by paw, traveling by day and working by night, and he began to worry about what would happen because he missed freshmen orientation-- maybe he had unwittingly really messed things up by missing out on that. But the kindly lady told him not to worry. Now that he was on campus, she would see that he would get registered in quick order. He might not get all the classes of his choice, but there would still be plenty to choose from.


After his visit with Mrs. Hoot-ti-hoo in Admissions, Timothy knew what he had to do next to get acclimated to the campus and to get registered, and he set out for the Academic Advising Office for help. He came away with a bundle of materials and the realization that, in addition to getting registered, he needed to line up housing in one of the residence halls.

But first things first, so off he went, trotting across campus to find his advisor, who he was told had an office on the third floor of the College of Professional Studies. It turned out to be fairly easy to find the office, although Timothy was breathing pretty hard when he finally reached the third level of the building. He much preferred climbing trees to climbing steps!

The door to the advisor's office was open, so Timothy trotted right in. An elderly mole was sitting at his desk working on some papers. His glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose, and Timothy wondered why they didn't fall off. "Hello, sir," he said meekly. "Can you help me? I need to register for my classes."

"Sure, come on in," said the fellow at the desk. "I'm Professor Plum, but I haven't a clue as to who you are."

I'm Timothy Trotalong Toolittle. I just arrived on campus, and I missed freshman orientation, so I came to you."

"Ah-ha, so I see-- I deduce that I am your advisor. You want me to help you find some good courses to take. Right?" The professor seemed delighted. Just then his glasses did fall off his nose into his lap.

"How did you know?" Timothy asked, visibly impressed by the professor's ability to pick up on his problem before he even spoke about it.


"Let's just say I like to solve mysteries. Here, my little furry friend, pull up a chair and squat, or whatever you do when you try to sit with four legs. I'll just turn on the computer, and we'll figure something out." With a click of his finger, the computer came alive, and he started tapping the keyboard. The light from the screen illuminated the professor's face and made his eyes sparkle. He was obviously enjoying himself. "I suppose you'll be wanting to take a course in the area of natural resources."

"Why, yes. I don't know how you knew that." Timothy was beginning to think the professor was a genius or something.

"Not so hard to figure-- says so right here in your admissions file under 'intended major'. You must have written that on your application. Here's a course you might like-- Introduction to Natural Resources. Sound good? I can still get you into that."

"Sure." Timothy felt he was in good hands. He was glad he had Professor Plum for an advisor. Over the next hour the professor got him into five courses that took care of several general degree requirements and exposed him to a few areas of study he wanted to explore. Afterwards he took the signed course card to the Registration Office and was officially registered for the classes that were chosen.

 

 Timothy tried again. "Well, what's it going to be? Do I have to make up a name for you, or are you going to tell me what it is?"

"OK-- but don't you dare laugh-- Peter Potbelly, that's my name. I come from a long line of distinguished Potbellys. My grandfather was an admiral, my uncle is a judge, and my father is a world-renowned winetaster." He was so defensive about it that Timothy didn't have the heart to chide him about his name. So that was why he tried to make fun of Timothy's name!

"Well, I guess we both could use a fancy title to add a little class to our names-- maybe we should both go on and get our doctorates. Dr. Potbelly, meet Dr. Toolittle." Timothy smiled broadly, but managed to suppress a laugh.

Peter, however, thought that was pretty funny, and he broke the ice with a loud guffaw. Timothy joined in, and soon tears were rolling down their faces as they laughed and laughed about their common plight. It was good to laugh, and it was clear that the two would become good friends.


The first few weeks were not all that easy, and it took some doing to get used to the busy schedule of attending classes. Timothy had to give up his flylighting job because he could no longer work long hours at night. The Work Wizard sent him the money he saved and promised to hold his flylighting job open for the next summer. That was good-- he would need it to help finance the next year's schooling. He wondered if he should get a part-time job while going to school-- it would help him to meet expenses. Peter advised against it because there was so much studying to do, but Timothy thought maybe he should see if he could manage it. Maybe having a part-time job would give him an opportunity to meet some nice folks outside of the classroom and make some more new friends.


Timothy sought help from the Student Employment Office, and landed a job in the University Food Service as an acorn snatcher. This job was right up his alley, and he was well-qualified, having learned long ago how to tell a good acorn from a bad one. Each afternoon he scoured the campus and nearby woods, scooting along the grounds looking for acorns to help feed all the students at mealtime. He became very popular because somehow he had the knack of bringing in only the tastiest acorns, and everyone loved to eat what became known as "Trotalong's acorns."

It wasn't long before Timothy noticed a pair of eyes peering at him from under a barberry bush as he looked for acorns. As he got closer, he recognized Felicity Fieldmouse. She appeared to be studying her lessons, but actually she was just enjoying watching Timothy scoot along back and forth bringing the acorns in. He stopped for a moment to talk with her. She spoke first, "I see you made it to the campus. I'm so glad to see you again."

Why was it that Timothy always seemed to be at such a loss for words when confronted by this little mouse? "I, er, why,... yeh... I'm like,... Hi dere." This was not coming out right.

"You're so fast gathering acorns. I love to watch you scoot along." She smiled at him.

 

 That gave him a little courage. "I ave t' york qickly. Dere re a lot uf moths t' fud here. Yu're lokin' grat. Wanna acorn?" He spit one out to her and she accepted it gratefully. Now it would be easier to talk. "There's a political rally tonight at the University Center-- want to go with me? Should be interesting." He gave her as dashing a look as he could muster.

It worked. "I'd love to," answered Felicity. That began a close friendship that was to last a long time for both of them. They often studied together, and when one had trouble understanding a concept, the other would often be able to figure out the meaning and help explain it. While some couples spent a lot of time at the local bars idling their time away, Timothy and Felicity found enjoyment in helping each other build a bright future. In time they grew very close.


One day Timothy entered his room only to see Peter packing up his things. "What's going on, Peter?" he asked.

Peter just kept pulling clothes out of his drawer and stuffing them aimlessly into his suitcase. "I'm going home," he said. "I don't belong here. I'm having trouble academically. It's no use-- I'm just wasting my time."

Timothy knew that Peter was having some troubles, but he had no idea that Peter was so troubled that he wanted to quit. He wondered what to say-- should he tell Peter to hang in there and perhaps try to help him or should he advise him to seek help somewhere? Finally it dawned on him that there must be somebody on campus who knew more about these things than he did, and he told Peter, "I think everything will be all right-- just go over to that nice lady owl in the Admissions Office. She was nice to me. I'll bet she knows somebody who can help you out." Peter liked that idea, and hopped off to see the lady owl.


 

 Peter got the help he needed. Actually, it turned out to be easy-- his resident hall assistant knew where he should go for help, and he got connected with the Academic Advising Center and the Tutoring-Learning Center.

This story winds down on a happy note. Timothy Trotalong Toolittle excelled in his courses during his first year at UWSP, majoring in soils in the natural resources curriculum. He became very popular on campus, not just for his premier acorn-gathering, but for his activity with the ACT volunteer program in the community and his involvement in intramural sports. It's not hard to imagine how his middle name served him well as a track star!

Felicity also had a lot to squeak about. She found enjoyment in the sciences and especially liked working with the electron microscope-- she thought it was neat to view so many things smaller than herself. Ultimately, she settled upon biology as a major. Around campus she became known for her journalistic flair on the campus newspaper-- her regular column, "The Mouse Roars", was read with interest by all students.


You decide how the story ends-- choose one of the possibilities below:

[Next picture] Go to Page 1. Classic happy story ending

[Next picture] Go to Page 1. "I never would have believed it" ending

[Next picture] Go to Page 1. Endings submitted by Mary J. Urbaniak, Nicholas Snavely, and Melissa Helf

[Next picture] Go to Page 1. I'd like to write my own ending!



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