This was the most special time of year for her. It was Christmas and it was the meaning of it that she loved. It was a time when Jesus would be born again and bring peace to the world, to all the world she hoped. She liked to sit in the back corner of the wall and string popcorn for the tree, while watching the other mice make the preparations.

Ever since Labor Day they had been making plans, and things had really ramped up into full swing by Thanksgiving. The costumes were being made or repaired and all the mice were busy doing their part to make this once again the best performance ever. Better than last year’s or the year before. The very best they’d ever done! It was a real pleasure to sit, trying to look like she was busy, but all the while quietly watching under her eyebrows what the others were doing, enjoying their excitement.

Bailey Mouse’s best friend, Miranda, was going to be the Inn Keeper this year, and she helped her to learn her lines for the play. Bailey was a bit on the shy side, while Miranda Mouse was a bundle of energy, and stammered over some of her lines, trying to say them too quickly. Bailey would stop her and make her begin again, "You have to say it slower, so people can understand what you’re saying."

"I know, but it’s such an honor. I just want it to be perfect, and I’m soooo excited to be on stage this year."

Bailey couldn’t understand how anyone would want to be on stage. Watching from the sidelines was good enough for her. She could do that all year, if they had more plays. But this was the best one. This was the special one, the one they went all out for. Apples were cut and sugared and the best cheeses were made into muffins and even fried into crispy strips that were chewy. After the nativity they would all gather for a big feast.

The snows were deepening as Christmas arrived. The mouse tunnels were collapsing from the weight, and there were days they were stuck inside. Miranda Mouse seemed tired, sleeping more. She was even slurring some of the longer words, instead of squeaking them out like she was in a hurry. They drank hot cocoa and that seemed to help her throat. Bailey noticed that Miranda’s voice was scratchy too, like pine needles brushed by the wind on a dry winter night.

Then just four days before the performance, Miranda began to sneeze and cough. So much she couldn’t even finish a line without a "Kachewwww!" or a "Koffff ahhhh koffff" or a "Ah ah Kacheeee!" Then she started wheezing, sounding like a baby mouse trying its voice for the first time.

Bad went to worst. Miranda began to lose her voice. Maestro Mouse approached Bailey just two days before the show. "I’m afraid Miranda won’t be able to do her part. You’ll have to take her place."

Bailey Mouse turned as white as the snow gathered outside the mouse hole. "Meeee?"

"You know the lines. You know them as well as Miranda. You’ll do just fine!"

"But me? On stage? With alllll the mice there… Oh, noooo!… I can’t. I just can’t."

"There’s no one else to ask." He wrapped his coat around his shoulders and bent over to squeeze through the hole, turning before he ducked out into the icy night air to go back to his place. He warned her, "Don’t catch her cold!"

The next two days were filled with one anxiety following a rush of blood to her face, followed by another anxiety attack chasing all the blood right down into her teeny mouse toes, followed by the chill that came when she pictured herself standing there in front of all those whiskery mice, young and old, telling Joseph and Mary that there was no room at the Inn.

When the fateful night arrived, she hid in the cigar box that was propped up on its side to make a backstage area for the performers. The stage was a pie tin turned upside down, wrapped in soft cotton. She listened to the sounds of the donkey clip clopping down the street. Two of the strong butcher’s mice were bent over, wearing brown cloth. The one in front wore long donkey ears that flopped with each step while their feet made a lot of clatter because of the chestnut shoes they wore to look like hooves.

There was a knock on the door of the cigar box. It was her time to step out. How could she do this? She had to talk in front of all those people, and she had to turn away Joseph and Mary, and the unborn baby Jesus. How could she ever say the words, tell them that there wasn’t suitable lodging for them? Her knees were banging together almost as noisily as the chestnut hoofbeats of the two-mouse donkey shoes!

Another knock. "Inn keeper! Open up!"

She opened the door, leaning against the side, holding a pitcher, like she was very busy. "What do you want?"

"We need a room for the night."

She stood still, suddenly forgetting the words she’d rehearsed dozens of times with Miranda. All those mouse eyes twinkled with the stage lights glittering in them like lights on a Christmas tree. Everywhere she looked there were more eyes, looking at her, blinking. It seemed like there were more mice out there than lived in the whole county!

"Uh. Well. I’m sorry, but… Ummmm… I really don’t want say it, but… ahhhh… It’s just that…"

The schoolmice on the side of the room began singing, to cover up her flustered ad lib lines, till she could remember what to say, "For to us a child is born. For to us a child is given."

"I remember now!" She turned to look at Joseph. "I have to tell you that there’s no room in the Inn."

Joseph Mouse looked weary as he played with a curl coming down the side of his head. "No room? We’ve been everywhere. We’ve checked every Inn, and my wife is pregnant."

Mary sat on top of one of the butcher’s mice, with a huge cotton ball stuffed under her dress. Her head hung down and she held her belly. She raised her face to look at Bailey Mouse with the most peaceful eyes she’d ever seen. "A room for one night?" Joseph asked again.

"I know who you are… and, well, I know a place you can go." She smiled at Mary. "Not here, but it’s warm and clean, and… There’s a manger down there, where you see the shepherds’ lanterns in the fields. There!"… She pointed down the hill from town. "Ummmm… I’ll send someone to check on you later."

"If that’s the best you have, it will have to do. Thank you." Joseph took the donkey’s rope to lead him away.

Bailey Mouse took a deep breath. "Bless you two. And the baby too." The way Mary had looked at her had made it seem real, not like it was just some mice dressed up to look the part. She wished she could have given them a better place to spend the night.

Then she realized what she’d done. She’d messed up almost every line she’d been teaching Miranda for weeks. Her tiny mouse toes felt warm, while she shivered slightly. She couldn’t even move, couldn’t even step back into the make-believe Inn, to close the door and hide. How could she have forgotten her lines like that? She’d ruined everything!

As she hesitated, watching the mice carrying Mary away, she heard the Mouse Magistrate’s booming voice. It seemed so loud it could have come from a larger rat, or even a possum… "BRAVO! Cheers for Miss Bailey Mouse!"

As she stood there, watching Joseph lead the stumbling donkey down from the stage, the room erupted in applause and cheers. She heard the high-pitched squeak of her little brother, Benjamin Mouse, joining in with the others.

She smiled so bright it was like the sun, peeking out from behind a dark cloud, after days of overcast skies. It seemed to light up the entire room in a quiet way. She realized she’d succeeded after all. She had been in the Nativity Celebration and they liked her performance.

Even though some of the other mice teased her, most of them said she had made it more special, because she had been herself. A nervous little inn-keeping mouse who knew that the meaning of Christmas wasn’t wrapped up in boxes. It didn’t sit stewing on the stove. It wasn’t words that could fly away in the wind. It was a warm feeling inside. It was the knowledge of the magic of Christmas.