by BB
Stoat was now not more than thirty paces from their tree, and the next moment was at the shallows where they had crossed. He must have struck their scent then, for he came on at the hunting run with his muzzle fairly low.
Neither gnome spoke, but each loosened his knife in its leather sheath in a meaning sort of way, as though he meant to sell his life dearly.
Stoat reached the log; the watching gnomes could now see every detail of the cruel flat head, the sharp muzzle, and the primrose-yellow chest. They could see the whiskers, like needles, and the working nose. He reared himself up on his hind legs with his front paws on the end of the willow branch, and the next moment was looking in their direction with cruel little button eyes. Then he began to come along the tree, threading the willow wands with lithe purpose.
Baldmoney and Sneezewort waited until he was almost at the nest before acting. Perhaps they were hypnotized by the deadly little beast. Had they been rabbits they would have simply sat back and squealed. But not so the gnomes. As Stoat came almost within springing distance they dived over the edge of the nest like young moorhens, one on one side, and one on the other, down into the brown water, taking their bundles with them.
Stoat chittered with rage, displaying a sudden row of ivory needles. A foot away was the unhappy Sneezewort’s head, drifting downstream with the current, and a little to the left, Baldmoney’s, both swimming as gracefully as frogs.
For a second Stoat was inclined to follow, for stoats swim with ease. And then he saw the three smooth eggs lying in the cup of the nest. In a moment the gnomes were forgotten, here was a far greater delicacy, EGGS!
Stoats love a nice fresh egg; every year thousands of birds lose their precious clutches to the little brown robber. He climbs the blackthorn to get to the nest of blackbird and thrush, finch and blackcap, and not only eggs fall to him but baby birds as well.
In a second or two he was breaking open the moorhen’s eggs, greedily sucking the contents, and then, when he had eaten them all, he curled round in the nest and went fast asleep like a full-fed dog.
Meanwhile the two gnomes, believing that they were still being followed, let the current take them far down until they reached the willow where they had spent the night. There they landed and shook themselves like wet birds.
There was no sign of Stoat following them so they collected their fishing lines, which they had abandoned in their flight. The hollow under the tree reeked and they did not tarry long. It was still raining heavily when they started out again. They did not follow the stream at first, intending to give it a wide berth, for they had no desire to run into Stoat. Leaving the Folly on their left, they struck across the fields; walking through the long grass was hard work and they were soon wet to the waist. Since their swim there had been no chance of drying their clothes, anyway it did not matter, for they could not be any wetter.
They struck the Folly again a quarter of a mile above the moorhen’s nest and walked hard all night, covering quite a mile of ground. After a while the rain ceased and the wind died away. The stars came out and the sough of the wind sank to silence. With exercise they soon became warm and dry again, and by the time the dawn began to break, the scene of their adventure with Stoat was far behind. But they could not help glancing back now and again; it was easy to imagine things in the half-darkness, and once or twice the gnomes thought they saw the sinister brown form coming after them through the grass.
As detail began to grow in the dawn they saw they were now in different country. The low water meadows had closed in on either hand and the Folly was running much more swiftly, with here and there miniature waterfalls which rattled merrily over the flotsam of the floods. Dark trees grew on the banks, and soon they found that they were entering a steep valley. Bub’ms were everywhere; they had drilled their holes in the steep slopes and the ground was honeycombed, and splashed with orange earth.
It was difficult going, for thick bushes (brambles and holly) grew right down to the stream edge, and silver birch, conifers, and sapling oaks formed quite a wood. Soon they came to a wire fence which barred their way, for it was composed of fine-mesh netting to keep out the Bub’ms. A glaring notice nailed to a tree announced in staring black letters ‘Trespassers will be Prosecuted’. Beyond the wire they saw a dark mass of firs and pines, a gloomy and rather sinister place, with the Folly gushing over a miniature waterfall.
‘Do you think this can be Crow Wood?’ whispered Sneezewort.
‘It looks very like it to me,’ replied Baldmoney. ‘I think we had better find a place to sleep.’
There was no passage through the wire save by way of the stream which ran under it. A mass of withered rubbish almost blocked the Folly, for the floods of winter had swept it on the wire mesh. After some searching they found a small hole against the bank and slipped through. It was Crow Wood without a doubt, and their hearts began to hammer.
Masses of red dogwood, guelder-roses, and privet hemmed them in, whilst overhead the dark tassels of the firs almost shut out the greying dawn. Not far from the stream, sprawled down the bank, was a giant Scots pine. It had torn up much of the bank in its fall, and the roots appeared in the half-darkness like the limbs of some long-dead monster.
They crawled right under the trunk, next the root, through a perfect jungle of fern and nettle, and there they found a cosy hollow where they could hide and rest. Lulled by the Folly water, which sent back an echo from the dark tunnel of the trees, the gnomes soon fell fast asleep and the music of the stream was a comforting lullaby, one that was familiar, and which had always been part of all their sleeping and waking life. Even in this strange and somewhat sinister place it sang as sweetly as ever and soon the eventful night was quite forgotten in dreamless and untroubled slumber.
The clouds blew away, the sun climbed higher in the sky, and soon little spots of sunlight pierced the thick foliage, shining redly on the rough bark of the pine. Insects, warmed and full of new vigour, began their busy day, two wood-wasps sat on the pine trunk and combed their antennae, next to a beautiful, burnished, green fly which shone as brightly as a kingfisher. You would never have guessed two very tired little gnomes were tucked away behind the ferns, even the little sharp-eyed woodmouse never saw them when it came scurrying along the ground close to the root.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Crow Wood
he gnomes slept well, and without any undue disturbances, in their green and secret hiding place. They awakened late and found to their astonishment that the afternoon was well advanced. The sun was out, dappling the nettles round the tree, though it was a green underwaterish kind of light which seemed rather curious.
As they had gone to sleep in the early dawn they had not been able to note their surroundings clearly, and they had also been deadly tired. But now they were able to take stock of the dreaded Crow Wood of which they had heard so much from the other animals. It did not seem so terrifying a place after all; they both came to the same conclusion as they sat side by side on top of the pine log, swinging their legs, and looking about them.
Overhead, the trees formed a green canopy, and as far as they could see up the course of the Folly were more trees, trees everywhere, on either side, stretching away and away. There was rather an exciting ‘adventury’ look in the dark shadows between the boles, and the spots of sunlight on the branching bracken fronds; and everything smelt so fresh and beautiful after the rain.
‘I think this isn’t at all a bad place,’ said Baldmoney in a relieved tone of voice.
‘Nor I, in fact I think it’s a wonderful wood; I’ve never seen so many trees before.’
The truth was the gnomes were unfamiliar with woods and had never known anything bigger than the little copse below the Oak Pool. The more they looked about them and sniffed the sweet smell of the leaves and bracken, and watched the play of dappled sunlight, the more they liked it.
‘We must explore this wood very thoroughly,’ said Baldmoney at length; ‘we must make friends with the Bub’ms’ (all ra
bbits were called Bub’ms by the gnomes), ‘woodpigs’ (hedgehogs), ‘birds and fern-bears’ (badgers), ‘and find out if any other gnome has ever been seen in Crow Wood. You may depend upon it,’ he added wisely, ‘if Cloudberry really did come up here, even though it was so long ago, the animals would remember it, for the story would be passed down from family to family. And then, of course, there’s sure to be some relation of Ben’s here, and he’s bound to be very old—owls always are, I don’t know why. I’ve never met a young owl except the owlets. I’ve only met owlets and very old owls. Funny, isn’t it?’
‘That’s true, I never thought of that,’ replied Sneezewort . . . ‘sniff ! sniff ! sniff ! Oh, how good the wood smells! Do you know, Baldmoney, I’m just beginning to enjoy myself for the first time this trip! I somehow feel things are going to be better, and you can’t deny we’ve had some shocking bad luck one way and another, what with losing the Dragonfly and then Stoat coming after us. Perhaps things will look up now; we deserve a bit of good luck.’
They sat for a long time on the log chatting until their stomachs reminded them of breakfast.
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Sneezewort, ‘it makes me mad to think of all that lovely food that went down with the Dragonfly; it isn’t going to be easy living on the country. I’m tired of fish.’
‘Never mind, let’s stew some of these nettle tops and dig for pig-nuts. I’m sure there are pig-nuts somewhere around; it looks the sort of place one ought to find them.’
They got off the log and climbed away from the stream, up the steep slope of the wood.
‘Don’t let’s go too far away from the Folly,’ said Baldmoney in rather a shamefaced whisper. Somehow they felt they ought to whisper.
‘By the good god Pan, do you notice something?’ ejaculated Sneezewort, suddenly gripping Baldmoney’s arm.
‘No; what?’
‘There are no birds singing!’
While they had been close to the Folly they had not missed the song of the birds, for the rattle and music of the stream had filled their ears; now they seemed wrapped in a great quiet. Far below, the tiny voice of the Folly rose to them through the trees, but not a single bird note was to be heard—not even a pigeon cooed up in the thick tree tops, or a blackbird warbled from the underwood, never before had they been in such a silent place.
Why wouldn’t the birds sing? Were they scared of something? Two little shivers crept up two little spines; Sneezewort looked at Baldmoney and pursed his lips to whistle a tune, but something made him keep silent. Somehow, even talking seemed a sacrilege.
Gnomes possess courage and perseverance, and though they may have felt fear, neither thought of turning back. Instead they did the most sensible thing—they began to search about for some friendly wild creature who perhaps could give them news of Cloudberry.
Working their way along the steep side of the bank they came at last to a warren, and it was with a great feeling of relief that they saw a fat doe Bub’m sitting, sunning herself at the mouth of her hole.
‘There’s Mrs Bub’m, let’s go and talk to her,’ said Sneezewort with unmistakable relief in his voice.
She had five baby Bub’ms with her, and they were having a great game on the sandy bank round the warren. The gnomes approached with caution and the old doe never saw them as she had her eyes half closed. Baldmoney stepped out from behind the tree.
With a rush the tiny babies scampered for the hole, where they all sat up like little question-marks. Mrs Bub’m was so startled she jumped round, her eyes wide with fear. But when she saw they were only gnomes she was obviously relieved. ‘My! you did make me jump,’ said she, ‘I thought at first I heard Giant Grum coming down the bank!’
The gnomes exchanged a meaning look, so it was true about the Giant after all!
They wished her good afternoon, and, being tactful little people, admired her family. Like all mothers the world over, the old doe was pleased and for some time they had to listen to all her domestic matters, how the wet weather was so trying for a growing family, and how poor the bark had been during the winter. (Rabbits eat a lot of bark during the cold weather and grow fat on it.)
‘And Stoat, Bub’m, I hope he has not paid you a visit?’ enquired Sneezewort.
‘Stoat, did you say? . . . huh . . . ’ (here Bub’m shuffled her pads into a more comfortable position). ‘Stoat, did I hear you say? Why, we never see him in this wood—he daren’t come anywhere near.’
Crow Wood at last! Not a bird is heard singing, the gnomes keep close together
‘Indeed,’ answered Baldmoney, interested, ‘is that so? What a splendid place you have chosen for your family!’
‘There has not been so much as a smell of him for many a long year. Giant Grum sees to that.’
This was the first time the gnomes had heard a good word said for the ogre; he couldn’t be such a bad ogre after all. Baldmoney said so.
The old rabbit seemed very astonished at this last remark.
‘Not so bad! Not so bad! did I hear you say? Why, you must be mad! He will kill anything, except that spoilt and vain creature he pets and guards so jealously; that stupid, chicken-headed bird with tail feathers as long as himself, that Chinaman with a white neck-ring and spurred legs.’
Neither gnome could make head nor tail of what Bub’m was saying, but they did not wish to appear ignorant.
‘Do you think he would kill us?’ asked Sneezewort in a very small voice.
‘Kill you? Kill you? Why, of course he’d kill you!’
‘He’d have to catch us first,’ said Baldmoney with some spirit.
Bub’m shook her head slowly. ‘Oh dear! you poor gnomes, you have such a lot to learn, you have indeed. I can see you have never been to Crow Wood before and don’t belong to these parts. Giant Grum doesn’t have to catch you; he can kill you if he’s standing as far away as that pine tree over there.’
She indicated a tree which was far up the bank, almost on the crown of it.
‘She’s only trying to scare us,’ whispered Baldmoney in Sneezewort’s ear; ‘don’t take any notice. Ask her if she’s seen any sign of Cloudberry.’
‘I suppose you don’t happen to have heard of one of our people coming up the stream, a long time back, or you haven’t seen a gnome in Crow Wood before?’
The old rabbit sat for a while in silence and the gnomes began to think she had not heard their question.
‘No, I haven’t seen a gnome in Crow Wood all the time I’ve been here, but I’ve heard stories now and again.’
‘Stories?’ they said together. ‘Stories? Do tell us please.’
‘Well,’ began Bub’m, ‘last year I heard . . . ’ Suddenly she stamped her leg twice, thump thump!
The gnomes knew what that meant, so did the babies. In the twinkling of an eye Bub’ms and gnomes dived down the hole without waiting to see what was the matter.
They ran helter-skelter down the burrow, the old mother Bub’m leading and the two gnomes bringing up the rear. They pushed and jostled, one of the babies fell over, another tripped Sneezewort so that he fell headlong on the loose sand of the burrow floor and had all the breath knocked out of his body. You never saw such a panic in your life.
The hole led downwards for a space, then turned right again, and finally sloped upwards until they found themselves in quite a roomy underground chamber.
Though the gnomes did not like to say so, it was rather stuffy, and they thought it would be better for a window, and it isn’t much fun sitting in the dark.
When all were in the chamber, no one said a word, the only sound was the rather heavy breathing of the gnomes.
‘What is the . . . ’ began Baldmoney. ‘Shhhhhhhh!’ hissed the rabbit, ‘not a word—listen!’
Both gnomes listened with all their ears and the baby Bub’ms did too; the gnomes thought they seemed very frightened.
Then they became aware that something was shaking the earth, a mighty hammer beating, some distant battering ram . . . thump, thump, thump, on t
he earth outside! Nearer it drew until they heard it pass overhead and die away in the distance. Then, far away, a sullen explosion was heard, far down the wood.
‘Giant Grum, I’ll be bound,’ said both gnomes together. ‘Wasn’t he awful?’
‘You’re right, gnomes,’ said the old doe, ‘it was the Ogre himself; he hasn’t been this way for some weeks now. I wonder which of the Wood People has been killed now. Perhaps it was Squirrel or Jay. Jay’s a cunning one though,’ she chuckled; ‘he leads him a fine dance and no mistake. He sucks the eggs of that impudent Chinaman and plays high jinks with the rearing-pens. You must go warily if you meet one of those Chinamen, if you aren’t careful he’ll go and sneak to Giant Grum that he’s seen you in the wood and then the Giant will come after you with his club that roars. Uh! how I hate those vain birds!’
‘Well, well,’ said Baldmoney, after a bit, ‘you do seem to live in a funny way in this wood! Why, down our stream, where we come from, all the animals live together on very good terms, you hardly ever hear an ill word said.’
Bub’m sniffed. ‘Uh huh! . . . I’ve never been outside the boundary; few of our people have. It doesn’t interest me very much how other folk live; by all accounts this stream of yours must be a funny sort of place, and no trees, you say? Well, I shouldn’t like that.’
‘What’s higher up?’ asked Baldmoney; ‘outside the wood, I mean.’
‘Don’t know, don’t want to know,’ said the rabbit in rather an off-hand manner, ‘this burrow is good enough for me and my children. All I ask is to be left in peace and no White Stoats.’