by Avi
Dedication
For my family
Contents
DEDICATION
MAP
CHAPTER 1 Poppy and Rye Visit Ereth
CHAPTER 2 Ragweed Junior
CHAPTER 3 The Message
CHAPTER 4 A Decision
CHAPTER 5 Poppy Talks to Junior
CHAPTER 6 Junior and His Friend
CHAPTER 7 Leaving
CHAPTER 8 Through Dimwood Forest
CHAPTER 9 Something Ahead
CHAPTER 10 The Bears
CHAPTER 11 A Question of Bathing
CHAPTER 12 On the Banks of Glitter Creek
CHAPTER 13 Junior and Mephitis
CHAPTER 14 An Old Friend
CHAPTER 15 Lilly Reaches Gray House
CHAPTER 16 Lungwort
CHAPTER 17 Poppy’s Return
CHAPTER 18 Poppy and Lungwort
CHAPTER 19 Junior’s Color
CHAPTER 20 A Red Mouse at Gray House
CHAPTER 21 Mephitis Meets Someone
CHAPTER 22 Poppy at Gray House
CHAPTER 23 Poppy and Junior
CHAPTER 24 Lungwort Meets Junior
CHAPTER 25 Family Talk
CHAPTER 26 The Derrida Deconstruction Co.
CHAPTER 27 Learning Some Things
CHAPTER 28 Junior and His New Friends
CHAPTER 29 Poppy Tries to Plan
CHAPTER 30 An E-mail
CHAPTER 31 The Bulldozer
CHAPTER 32 The Bulldozer Comes
CHAPTER 33 Introductions
CHAPTER 34 The Wreckage
CHAPTER 35 A Discovery
CHAPTER 36 Farewells
CHAPTER 37 Heading Home
CHAPTER 38 Another E-mail
CHAPTER 39 Poppy’s Return
EXCERPT FROM POPPY AND ERETH CHAPTER 1: The Hard Winter
CHAPTER 2: Junior Brings Ereth Some News
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR
PRAISE
BOOKS BY AVI
CREDITS
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Map
CHAPTER 1
Poppy and Rye Visit Ereth
SUGARED SLUG SOUP,” said Ereth the porcupine without looking up from the lump of salt over which he was slobbering. “I don’t believe it.”
“I’m afraid it’s true,” said the deer mouse Poppy to her old friend. “It’s very upsetting. The kind of thing that makes me wonder if I’ve been a bad parent.”
Poppy and her husband, Rye, a golden mouse, had gone over to Ereth’s smelly hollow log for a talk. The closest of friends, they lived deep within Dimwood Forest, where the tall trees reached into the sweet air and carpeted the earth below with soft shadows.
“Now Poppy,” said Rye, “the rest of our children are doing fine.”
Poppy sighed. “I suppose one failure out of a litter of eleven isn’t bad,” she said. Her round, white belly had grown plump of late. Though her eyes were usually bright and her whiskers full, now those eyes appeared rather dull and full of worry, while her whiskers were somewhat limp.
“You made your first mistake by naming him Ragweed Junior,” Ereth grumbled between licks of salt. “Most juniors,” he said, “resent the name. Or should.”
“I wish he did resent it,” said Poppy. “Junior’s problem is that he loves being a new Ragweed.”
“Gangrenous gym shorts,” said Ereth. “Was there ever a mouse—dead or alive—who caused more fuss than the first Ragweed?”
“I’m afraid,” said Rye, “Junior wants to be what he thinks Ragweed was. It’s all those stories he’s heard about my brother.”
“Though of course,” Poppy said, “Junior never knew Ragweed. All he knows is that Ragweed was unusual.” She reached out, took Rye’s paw, and squeezed it with affection. “It was Ragweed who brought us together. And if it hadn’t been for him,” she reminded Ereth, “I doubt you and I would have met.”
“I suppose,” said Ereth. He put his salt lump down reluctantly. “Just what the flea fudge has Junior done?”
“He used to be a cheerful, chatty, wonderfully open young mouse,” said Poppy. “Nowadays it’s a constant frown.”
“If I say yes,” Rye went on, pulling at his long whiskers, “he says no. If I say no, he says yes. When he says anything more than that, it’s mostly ‘Leave me alone.’”
“He has become rather rude,” said Poppy.
“Almost impossible to get him out of bed before noon,” added Rye.
“I doubt,” said Poppy, “that he washes his face more than once a week, even though he’s constantly being reminded.” Her own ears were large and dark, with a nose, toes, and tail that were pink and clean.
“And now he’s completely changed his looks,” said Rye, whose fur was dark orange.
“Looks!” barked Ereth. “How can a mouse change his looks?”
“You see,” said Rye, with a shake of his head and a whisk of his tail, “Junior’s best friend is a skunk.”
The salt fell from Ereth’s paws. “A skunk?”
“His name is Mephitis,” Poppy explained. “We don’t know much about him. Or his family. I’m afraid the problem is that he’s not a very good influence. Ereth, you need to see Junior for yourself.”
“Oh, toe jam on a toothpick,” said Ereth. “He can’t be that bad.”
“The point is,” said Poppy, “Junior has become a teenager.”
“A teenager!” cried the porcupine. “Why the weasel wonk did you let that happen?”
“He did it on his own,” said Rye, his small ears cocked forward.
“Then I’d better go unbuckle his buttons,” said Ereth. With a rattle of his quills, he heaved himself up. “Where is he?”
“Probably down among the snag roots,” said Rye. “He’s taken to liking darkness, too.”
“Just watch me, putt pockets,” said Ereth. “I’ll straighten him out flatter than a six-lane highway rolling through Death Valley. Be back soon. But don’t touch that salt, or you’ll get a quill up your snoot.” Quills rattling, the porcupine clumped out of the old log and headed for the gray lifeless and topless tree in which Poppy and her family made their home.
“Good luck,” Rye called after him.
“I do hope it was all right to tell Ereth about Junior,” said Poppy.
“Nothing else has worked,” said Rye.
“But . . . what do you think he’ll do?”
“I’m not sure, but I guess we’ll find out pretty soon.”
CHAPTER 2
Ragweed Junior
SERVES POPPY AND RYE right for having children,” said Ereth as he waddled along the well-worn path that stretched between his log and the snag. Not the sweetest smelling of creatures, the old porcupine had a flat face with a blunt, black nose and fierce, grizzled whiskers. Sharp quills covered him from head to twitchy tail.
“They were much too young to have kids,” he muttered. “No experience. Don’t have enough strict rules. No consistency. No firmness. They spoil those youngsters. Let them run everything. Coddle them. I mean—baboon bubble bath—who’s supposed to be in charge? Kids or parents? Well, it’s time I taught them all a lesson or two about how a parent should act.”
“Hi, Uncle Ereth. Where are you going?”
Ereth looked up. Some of Poppy and Rye’s children were playing just outside the snag. Snowberry was building something out of sticks. Sassafras and Walnut were in deep conversation. It was Columbine who had called to him.
“Where’s your brother?” Ereth demanded.
“I have a lot of brothers,” said Columbine.
“The one who’s acting like an idiot.”
“Most of my brothers act like idiots,” said Columbine with a cheerful grin.
“Listen here, you piddlin
g pile of potted pips, don’t talk back to me!”
The other mice looked around at one another. They loved to hear Ereth swear.
Columbine, barely managing not to giggle, said, “Which brother are you looking for?”
“Ragweed,” said Ereth. “The junior variety.”
“Oh, him,” said Columbine, her good cheer fading. “What do you want him for?”
“I need to straighten him out.”
“Uncle Ereth, if you want old grumpy, he’s either with his friend Mephitis or down in the snag roots.”
“I don’t want him,” said Ereth. “I don’t want any of you. I need to talk to him.”
The porcupine went to the base of the snag. Since the mouse entry hole was too small for him to pass through, the best he could do was stick in his snout and call: “Junior! This is your Uncle Ereth. I need to speak to you. Now!” The young mice put aside what they were doing to watch what would happen.
No reply came from inside the tree.
“Junior!” bellowed Ereth. “You get your bloated beanbag of a brain up here or I’ll unzip your bottom from your belly and give it the boot!”
The young mice waited breathlessly for a reply.
When none came, Ereth screamed, “Didn’t you hear me? I said now!”
“I’m busy,” said an irritated voice.
“With what?” said Ereth.
“Stuff.”
“March yourself up here this moment,” cried Ereth, “before I stuff your stuff up your stuffing!”
“Okay, okay. Keep your pit in your olive.”
Ereth snarled and looked around at the mice. “What are you watching?” he cried.
“You,” said Snowberry, no longer able to keep from giggling.
“Good. Maybe you’ll learn something.” His prickly tail thrashed back and forth, stirring up a large cloud of dust.
All eyes were on the entry hole. After what seemed forever, a mouse crawled out. Ereth blinked. Ragweed Junior had dyed his normally golden fur tar black. A white streak ran down his back. He looked like a miniature skunk.
“Yo, dude, what’s going down?” said Junior.
“Is that you?” said Ereth. “Ragweed Junior?”
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“Why are you . . . that way?”
“What way?”
“Looking like a skunk, sounding like a frog.”
“Because I freaking well want to.”
“Bug-bellied bromides,” said Ereth. “Don’t swear at me like that. I’m your uncle.”
“Yeah, well, if a porcupine can be an uncle to a mouse, I can be a skunk,” said Junior. “And if all you’re going to do is yell at me, I’ve got better things to do.” He turned to go.
“Hold it right there, young mouse!” yelled Ereth. “I’m here to tell you that this rudeness has to stop. You need to show some respect for your parents—the ones that raised you up, take care of you, and make sure your life is decent. Have you no gratitude?”
“Gratitude is for old grumps and gimps,” returned Junior. “Listen, flat face, why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Or better yet, to talk the way you do: go pack up your prickles and peddle some pickles for some pocket change!” With that, Junior spun about and disappeared back into the snag.
Ereth—his mouth agape—stared at the entry hole. “Bottled baby barf!” he cried. “He has become a teenager.” The old porcupine hurried back toward his log.
The young mice, laughing uproariously, watched him go. “Did we learn anything?” said Snowberry.
It was Walnut who said, “Well, Junior is still grumpy.”
To which Columbine added, “And Uncle Ereth is still funny.”
CHAPTER 3
The Message
AS ERETH HURRIED BACK to his log, he saw a mouse on the path. At first he thought she was Poppy. But when he realized she was a mouse he had never seen before, he skidded to a halt and stuck his nose close to her. “Who the musky muskrat marbles are you?”
“How do you do?” said the mouse, backing away nervously. “Are you Erethizon Dorsatum?”
“What if I was?”
“Might you be Poppy’s . . . acquaintance?”
“I’m her best friend.”
“How do you do, Mr. Dorsatum. My name is Lilly. I’m one of Poppy’s siblings.”
“You’re . . . what kind of dribbling sap?”
“I am Poppy’s sister.”
“Sister! What sister? Where did you come from?”
“From Gray House,” said Lilly. “That’s Poppy’s home on the south side of the forest. Beyond Glitter Creek. Near Tar Road. Do you know where I might find Poppy? I’m bringing her an important message.”
“I always know where she is,” said Ereth. “Follow me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dorsatum,” said Lilly. “I was apprehensive about getting to her in time.”
“In time for what?”
“The news I’m bringing.”
“Which is?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dorsatum. It’s a . . . family matter.”
“Oh, clown cheese! Just come with me.” The porcupine marched to the entrance of his hollow log. “She’s in here,” he said to the mouse.
Lilly, who had been following behind Ereth, halted before the foul stench that wafted from the log. Looking about, she saw that the log’s ancient bark was rust colored, encrusted by fungus that looked like limp angel wings. In the rotting soil that lay around the log grew damp and decaying mushrooms.
Lilly wrinkled her nose. “Here?” she said. “Does Poppy truly live here?”
“What’s the matter with it?”
“It . . . has an . . . offensive odor.”
“Cockroach-flavored chewing gum!” cried Ereth. “This happens to be my home, and it’s where Poppy is visiting. You can come in or wait here. Suit yourself, lice wit, or whatever your name is.” With a snort, Ereth went into the log, leaving Lilly behind.
Poppy and Rye were waiting for him. Instead of saying anything, Ereth marched to his salt lump and began to lick it, salivating loudly.
Poppy and Rye exchanged looks. Rye nodded, and Poppy went over to the porcupine. “Ereth, did you see Junior?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think?”
“Not much.”
“Did the two of you talk?”
“Humph.”
“Ereth . . . please tell me what was said.”
“I told him he was an idiot.”
“Oh. And he said?”
“Called me flat face. Told me to pack up my prickles and go.”
“I’m sorry,” said Poppy, trying not to smile. “I’m afraid that’s the way he is to everyone lately.”
“Ereth,” said Rye, “do you have any idea what we might do with him?”
“Get rid of him. Disown him. Drop him. Shoo him away. Give him the boot. Evict him. Exile him. Forget him. Tell him he’s on his own. That he’s not worth your trouble. That he’s nothing but mildewed marmalade.”
“Ereth,” cried Poppy. “Those are awful things to say about anyone, but Junior is our child. We can’t do that to him. I . . . don’t even want to. We love him.”
“Love,” sneered Ereth. “Love is ‘evil’ spelled backward— with an i instead of an o.”
“But he needs us,” said Rye.
“The only one who needs you right now,” muttered Ereth to Poppy, “is your sister.”
“My sister?” exclaimed Poppy. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“The one who calls herself Little Bit and talks like she ate a book of manners. She’s right outside. Waiting for you.”
“She is?”
“Oh, peppered peacock pasta! Didn’t I just say that?”
“Ereth,” cried Poppy into his face, “sometimes you are impossible!” With that, she scampered around Ereth and out of the log, with Rye close at her heels.
“Mice,” muttered Ereth to himself as he returned to his salt. “It would be more fun listeni
ng to glowworms grow!”
The moment Poppy emerged from the log, she saw her sister. “Lilly!” she cried, and threw her paws around her, covering Lilly’s face with squeaky nuzzles. “But what are you doing here? How is everybody? When did you arrive? You look wonderful. What made you come? Oh, Lilly, this is my husband, Rye. Rye, this is Lilly. The oldest of my thirty-two little sisters.” And she gave her sister a new round of hugs and nuzzles.
“Pleasure to meet you,” said Rye, grinning shyly and extending a paw to his sister-in-law.
“Very much obliged,” said Lilly, offering a limp paw in return.
“You must meet our children,” Poppy went on. “Or have you met them already? Some of them are right over there. There are eleven. All wonderful. You’ll love them. They’ll love you. Just come along. I am so glad to see you. How’s Mama? How’s Papa?”
“Poppy,” said Lilly, “I’m afraid you’re not giving me any time to reply.”
“I’m sorry,” said a laughing Poppy. “I’m so excited to see you.”
“Poppy,” said Lilly with great gravity, “it was Papa who dispatched me here.”
The smile left Poppy’s face. “Lilly, is something wrong?”
“Things are not good at home. Mama would like to see you, of course. But it’s Papa: he’s not well. He ordered me to bring you back as soon as possible. You see, there’s a gigantic bulldozer parked right near Gray House. It appears as if humans plan to knock our house down. So, as far as the family is concerned, things could not be worse.”
CHAPTER 4
A Decision
POPPY GATHERED TEN of the children and stood them before the entryway to the snag. At the same time Rye went down among the roots and insisted that Junior come out, too. When all had been assembled, Poppy introduced them to her sister. “Children, this is your Aunt Lilly. Aunt Lilly, this is Mariposa, Columbine, Verbena, Scrub Oak, Pipsissewa, Crabgrass, Locust, Sassafras, Walnut, Snowberry, and Ragweed Junior.”
The young mice stared at the newcomer with intense curiosity.
“What do you say, children?”
“Pleased to meet you, Aunt Lilly,” they chorused, except for Junior, who chose to stare glumly at the ground.