Every mouse knows that the far south end of the forest is where one can find the best nuts. And every mouse knows that the south end of the forest is where the witch lives, every mouse that is except Corrine. It was a cold but sunny afternoon late, late on in the autumn and young Corrine had left it a bit late to stock up her larder for the coming winter. She ventured out, wrapped in her tweed cloak for warmth and headed south. But as the shadows of the trees became longer Corrine felt a strong unease overwhelming her mousey whiskers. The witch had smelled Corrine's acorn perfume and was now towering above the little mouse. The witch raised her hazel wand to strike poor Corrine and reduce her to crumbling leaves when the clever little mouse dashed up the witches striped stockings and underneath her black petticoats. The witch squealed and jumped around as though her feet were alight letting Corrine make a dash for home.