The mice gathered round it in a silent, hungry, nibbling horde.

David tried to count them.

There must have been twenty.
He felt an impulse to scoop them up in something, Tavish's water pail for instance, and pitch them out into the night.

The creatures became quieter after their gorge on bannock crumbs.

Most of them disappeared.
For a long time David and the Missioner sat smoking their pipes, waiting for Tavish.