Sámson egér kalandjai

Erika Gönczi
The Adventures of Peter Vole
- The Enchanted Key -
2013

Written and illustrated by Erika Gönczi
Translated by Julia Takács Jánosné
Proofread by Paul Neville
Copyright © Erika Gönczi, 2013
ISBN 978-963-89814-1-7

Peter Vole was just making one of his
favourite pies. With his tiny paws he rolled
out the pastry in a sprightly manner, and
in the blink of an eye he had swiftly
chopped up the apples, as well.
”At last, the cinnamon! There’s no
pie without cinnamon!” murmured the
little vole with satisfaction. His tiny coat of
fur was covered in flour, his paws were all
sticky from apple juice. A fair amount of
cinnamon sat on the tip of his nose and on
his whiskers.
While the pie was baking in the oven,
Peter Vole looked out of the window.
”Well, well, a storm is approaching.
Oh, my, I don’t like storms! I hope, Samson
gets here in time,” he said with concern.
Peter lived in a quiet, wooded district
of London, in a very small mousehole in
5

Mr. Watson’s house. Inside the little vole’s
mousehole was a tiny kitchen, a tiny room
and an even tinier pantry.
In the room there was nothing else
but a bed, a minute bedside table and a
wardrobe. The wardrobe was a tatty piece
of furniture, its door opened with a creak.
It had a pleasant smell, like that of newly
cut wood, and its unusually shaped
keyhole figured emptily in the doorway as
though it were abandoned.
The street was quiet - only the soft sound
of raindrops could be heard. A breeze
gently swept the dry autumn leaves ahead,
and the enormous street lamps
illuminated the sleepy surroundings with a
scattered, mysterious light.
6

Suddenly, the sound of tiny footsteps was
caught up and carried off by the wind,
which was growing stronger and stronger.
Then unexpectedly, a well-dressed little
mouse wearing an elegant suit came into
sight on the shining, rain-soaked street.
Samson Mouse hurriedly opened his
umbrella, but as he did so the wind
immediately lifted him up and sent him
flying onwards and upwards as far as the
thick, sturdy branches of the enormous
trees. He clutched his umbrella in fright,
until the wind began to ease and allowed
him to descend lower and lower, and
finally placed him on the ground in front
of Mr. Watson’s house. The little mouse
closed his umbrella, feeling quite alarmed.
7

”Well, it was a lot of use bringing
this! It caused me nothing but trouble!” he
muttered angrily.
Samson had soon gone round to the
back of Mr. Watson’s house to reach the
secret main entrance of Peter’s mousehole.
The huge, commanding house cast a
shadow over the backyard, and as the wind
grew in strength the thousands of leaves
resting in the undergrowth and the
fearsome mass of entwined grasses were
made to whisper mysteriously. At last the
tired, drenched little mouse found himself
knocking on his friend’s door.
8