The Little Grey Men

by BB

  ‘Yes, that’s true, Baldmoney; perhaps something was chasing him. Giant Grum, perhaps. And what a bother he would be in without it, he thought more of that knife than anything he had.’ Sneezewort was scraping away the rust from the blades and very soon had them clicking sweetly and as bright as new. ‘We must explore the stream tomorrow; this fine weather isn’t going to last, if you ask me.’

  Baldmoney peeped out of the entrance of the drey. ‘It’s very quiet tonight, not a breath of wind.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Squirrel from the corner, where he was hunting for imaginary fleas, ‘this fine weather is breaking up; I smell rain.’

  Out over the valley the sky was inky black, piled with large clouds of a reddish colour like brick dust. It was hot in the drey, the gnomes were glad to sit at the entrance, watching the wood below and the dark pine-tree tassels outlined against the sunset. Far away something muttered and growled like a great beast. A whitish glare ran along the horizon and was gone. Then it flickered again. Not a breath stirred the trees, the sound of the Folly was sharp and distinct. Owls hooted. Then the rumble came again, louder this time.

  ‘Cock! cock! cock! cock! cock!’ The ringing crow of a pheasant broke the stillness. Squirrel spoke from the darkness.

  ‘There goes the Chinaman, scared to death of thunder; it reminds him too much of October when the Big Bangs begin!’

  ‘Yes,’ chuckled Baldmoney, ‘we met him down the wood this morning and he tried to turn us off, us, if you please, who were here in England before he was thought of!’

  ‘That’s the Chinaman all over,’ said Squirrel, ‘he thinks he owns the wood. Anyway, he isn’t wild, he’s as tame as a chicken. You should see the pheasants up in the rearing pens, pampered spoilt things!’

  A vivid flash lit up the interior of the drey in a dramatic fashion. In that instant glare the gnomes could see each other’s eye-balls glint, and the grey form of Squirrel hunched in the corner. Nobody spoke; like humans, they were stilled in awe at the power and majesty of the heavens in tumult. The following crash seemed to shake the wood, and even the gnomes crouched low in the darkness. Another flash followed, lighting up momentarily the wooded slope and the far hills. And then the silence was broken by the pattering of rain. Sudden puffs of wind arose and sang in the pine branches, hissing away to silence. The rattle of rain gathered power. Soon it was drumming down, sending a mist of drops rebounding from the twigs. The drey rocked in the tree top, the fir tassels whipped and roared in a sudden great wind. How relieved were the gnomes to be in the cosy shelter of Squirrel’s drey!

  ‘I’m glad we’re not down in the wood,’ said Sneezewort, cuddling up to Baldmoney, ‘I shouldn’t like to be up the Folly now. I wonder what poor old Dodder is doing.’

  ‘I can give a pretty good guess,’ chuckled Baldmoney—‘snug in old root with the door shut to, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘And a fire going,’ added Sneezewort.

  ‘And old Ben and his family tucked up out of the storm,’ said Baldmoney, feeling suddenly homesick.

  ‘And Cloudberry, what’s he doing now, I wonder?’ Baldmoney looked out through the dim entrance.

  Somewhere yonder, away up the Folly, through the dark wood perhaps, in the unknown and uncharted country, was their long-lost brother. Something made them shudder. It was dreadful to think of anyone being out on such a night. A mystery is always fascinating. Would they ever find him?

  Flash followed flash, the heavenly artillery thundered and crashed, the woodland creatures cowered in their holes under the fury of rain, wind, and thunder.

  Squirrel told them tales of past tempests, and old legends connected with his native land across the sea, until the storm went growling away over the hills and all was silent save for the drip, drip of the rain in the dark wood. And oh! the sweet scents which arose in the warm night, of thirsty earth no longer thirsty, and the moist steaming leaves!

  •

  Crow Wood was still steaming next morning, when, after a breakfast from good Squirrel’s store of ‘mixed allsorts’, the gnomes set off again to explore the wood. By mutual consent they had decided to make Tree Top house their base of operations until they were quite satisfied Cloudberry was not anywhere in the locality.

  After the storm the wood had rather a beaten look, for the rain had been very heavy. It had washed off all the bud casings from the trees and bushes and scattered them on the ground. When they reached the bank of the Folly they found it discoloured with flood, and sticks and leaves were floating down.

  Baldmoney put his lines together and caught some fat minnows; the fish would make a welcome change from a vegetarian diet. After he had caught six fat fish he put them in his bundle and they went on up the stream.

  Beeches and oaks were fewer and soon there was nothing but endless conifers; larch, beautifully arrayed, looking like fairy torches in their new green (which is one of the loveliest greens in nature) and tall firs which shut out most of the light.

  Close to a bunch of hazel which grew half in the stream, forming a dense thicket, a tearing screech brought the gnomes to a halt. The next moment a cheeky-looking bird with a high crest and blue wings came bouncing down on to a hazel twig. It was Blue Jay, a handsome rascal with a merry china-blue eye, full of fun and mischief.

  ‘Hullo! Jay!’

  ‘Hullo! gnomes!’

  ‘You’re just the one we wanted to see,’ said Sneezewort; ‘we think you can help us.’

  ‘Well, I’m always only too pleased to do that. Crow Wood seems popular with the Little People these days. But you’re playing with fire, you know; this isn’t exactly a safe place for gnomes.’

  ‘We’re not living here,’ explained Baldmoney, ‘we’re just passing through and having a look round. You see, we’re looking for Cloudberry.’

  ‘Cloudberry?’ queried the Jay, cocking his head and wiping his bill.

  ‘Yes, our brother, you know. He’s up here somewhere we feel sure, and we found his knife yesterday farther down the stream. I suppose you haven’t seen another gnome up here at any time?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ said Jay in a matter-of-fact tone; ‘I saw one yesterday.’

  ‘What!’ screamed the gnomes together. ‘You saw another gnome YESTERDAY?’

  ‘Yes, the funniest sight I’ve seen for a long time. He was sitting on Otter’s back and they were coming upstream!’

  The gnomes could not contain themselves for joy.

  ‘Tell us, tell us, which way did they go? When did you last see them?’

  ‘Oh, they were just going upstream, yesterday afternoon.’

  The Jay seemed to treat the whole thing in a very casual manner.

  ‘Come on,’ exclaimed Sneezewort, ‘we must follow them; they may be miles away by now.’

  Without more ado, and hardly a word of thanks to Jay, they went on up the stream as fast as they could, stumbling over sticks, forcing their way through brambles and clambering over fern-clad banks. The wood grew darker and thicker until they seemed to be in a green twilight, and then, on rounding a bend in the stream, Sneezewort suddenly laid his hand on Baldmoney’s arm, pulling him down into the bracken.

  ‘Look! Smoke!’

  Upstream behind a hazel thicket there was a faint mist of blue.

  ‘Someone’s lit a fire,’ whispered Sneezewort. Baldmoney sniffed. ‘Someone’s cooking fish!’

  ‘It’s Cloudberry, I do believe,’ said Baldmoney in an excited voice. ‘Fancy daring to light a fire in Crow Wood!’ They crept forward through the bracken and hazel bushes and the next moment they saw a sight which surprised them.

  Behind a large stone close to the water, arched over with hazel bushes and branching bracken fronds, was a gnome. He had his back to them and was busy frying something over a little fire. On a shingle spit beyond was Otter eating a perch.

  ‘Cloudberry! Cooeee!’ shouted the gnomes, but the roar of the water drowned their voices. At any rate neither Otter nor gnome looked round.

  They ran along the shingle and
then the gnome suddenly turned his head. It was Dodder!

  ‘Dodder!’

  ‘Baldmoney! . . . Sneezewort!’

  ‘However did you get up here?’

  Dodder indicated Otter who, having finished his perch, was cleaning his whiskers.

  ‘I couldn’t stick being alone,’ growled Dodder; ‘I thought I might as well join you two. It wasn’t much fun down by the Oak Pool, and I thought the change would do me good.’

  The gnomes were so pleased they hugged each other.

  ‘We never thought you’d come after us,’ said Baldmoney at last, rather out of breath; ‘we’ve often talked about you, wondering what you were doing with yourself. But how, by the great god Pan, did you get up here?’

  ‘Well, after you’d gone, I came after you, but couldn’t make much progress with my lame leg. Heron gave me a lift up to the mill, and then I saw your boat. I thought you’d both been drowned, but when I couldn’t see any sign of you I guessed you’d gone on up. I was just thinking of turning back when who should come along but Otter, and the rest was easy. He said, “Leave everything to me; we’ll find the others if we have to swim up to the source,” and he meant it too. That’s what I call a friend. What happened to you?’

  The gnomes told Dodder of their own adventures, starting from the breaking of the Dragonfly’s paddle and the incident with Stoat, finishing up with the finding of Cloudberry’s knife and their good friend Squirrel.

  ‘It’s a pity about the boat, though,’ said Sneezewort sadly. ‘She went down with all our gear; we only got away with what we stood up in.’

  ‘The boat’s all right,’ said Dodder with smug pride; ‘when Otter came along we salvaged her and found she was not holed. And what’s more, most of the provisions were still on board.’

  ‘What!’ exclaimed the gnomes together; ‘you managed to save her?’

  ‘Oh yes—at least Otter did, and I came up in her, towed by our good friend. We came up in fine style, and we left her under the fern just inside the boundary. Naturally we couldn’t get up the waterfalls.’

  Here was splendid news. The gnomes danced for joy, and made a tremendous fuss of Otter, whilst Dodder turned the fish over in the pan (a cocoa tin lid which he had found).

  ‘My! that fish smells good—quite like old times,’ said Sneezewort gleefully, rubbing his hands.

  The spitting fish did smell good, and Baldmoney soon dived into his bundle and fetched out the others he had caught that morning.

  The blue smoke from the fire drifted away through the bushes as they all sat round watching the little fishes jumping in the pan like crickets.

  ‘You know,’ said Baldmoney with his mouth full, ‘it’s mighty risky lighting a fire in Crow Wood. We’ve heard the giant once, it was awful—he must be perfectly enormous.’

  ‘Pooh,’ said Dodder, ‘we can’t go in fear and trembling of Giant Grum. I’ve heard him too. Soon after I came into the wood I was talking with some Bub’ms near the Folly and suddenly they all rushed away. I peeped round a tree but could see nothing because it was so dark under the branches, but I could hear something big moving higher up the wood. All the animals seemed panic-stricken and there wasn’t a sign of anyone; I suppose they had all gone to ground. I must admit I did feel a little scared. After a bit the sounds died away and they all came out of their holes and we went on talking as though nothing had happened. But Giant Grum isn’t going to worry me. I’m going to enjoy myself. I haven’t had a decent holiday for years. Even if we don’t find Cloudberry this trip is going to do us good. What do you think, Otter?’

  There was no reply. Otter had gone as silently as a shadow.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Dodder, ‘he’s about somewhere; he’s always doing that, slipping off without saying a word. He’ll turn up again. I expect he’s gone upstream fishing. He says the fish are better here than lower down. Smaller of course, but a better flavour.’

  There was a movement in the bracken on top of the bank and a scarlet-wattled face peered down at them. Cock! cock! cock! cock! cock! the sudden explosive sound made the gnomes jump in all directions. Dodder and Baldmoney whisked into the bracken and Sneezewort dived under the hazels.

  ‘Picknicking isn’t allowed in Crow Wood,’ shrieked the pheasant, beside himself with rage. ‘I tell you I won’t have this trespassing. Cock! cock! cock! cock! cock!’

  ‘Dash the bird, he’ll let everyone know we’re here,’ growled Baldmoney. ‘Shut up, you noisy brute!’

  ‘Shut up, did you say, shut up? I’ll soon shut you up! If my master hears me calling he’ll very soon shut you up. Cock! cock! cock!’ he shrieked again at the top of his voice.

  ‘Sounds like an old motor horn,’ hissed Sneezewort; ‘never heard such a noise!’

  ‘Put that fire out,’ said the wise Dodder, ‘if the giant does come he’ll smell the smoke even if he doesn’t see it.’

  Then the sneaking pheasant rose out of the bracken like a rocket and went off through the trees, still ‘cocking’.

  ‘What a noisy, unpleasant person!’ said Dodder. He hobbled across to the fire and scattered the embers with his foot and stamped out the sparks. Then the quiet of the wood was shattered.

  BANG! And then, after an instant silence in which even Dodder’s presence of mind seemed to forsake him and he stood as if turned to stone, BANG! again, close at hand. It was an awful moment. Then the gnomes dived for cover, and not a thing was to be seen but one little red spark which burned and glowed among the stones. They were right among the bracken on the water’s edge.

  ‘I never knew Giant Grum was so c-c-close,’ stuttered Sneezewort in Dodder’s ear.

  ‘Shhhhh!’ hissed Dodder, ‘listen!’

  Up the wood a stick cracked. ‘Oh! dear, he’s coming, we shall be seen,’ whimpered Sneezewort.

  ‘You’ll be heard if you make all that noise,’ growled Dodder; ‘shut up, can’t you?’

  They lay trembling in the thick cover. The sounds were drawing nearer. There was a snuffling noise and they heard a big gruff voice say, ‘Seek him, Jet, seek him!’ Splashings and crackings. ‘Oh! dear, he’s got a dog,’ moaned Sneezewort, ‘he’s got a dog.’

  ‘Shut up, and lie still!’

  Dodder hears the approach of Giant Grum and the Wood People run for cover

  A line of bubbles passed down the stream. They saw for an instant the face of Otter, a very different animal from the sleek contented friendly beast which a moment before had been eating a fish beside them on the shingle. He was swimming with difficulty and a dark cloud showed in the water of his wake.

  ‘Oh! dear, Otter’s been shot,’ moaned Sneezewort—‘poor Otter!’ And he began to cry.

  ‘You’ll be shot too, in a minute, if you don’t keep quiet,’ growled Dodder. ‘Do you want us all to be killed?’ But Sneezewort saw tears in Dodder’s eyes too. They lay with beating hearts as the sounds of cracking sticks drew nearer.

  Suddenly a big black retriever came pushing through the bracken close to them. Its slavering muzzle and staring eyes were framed in the green bracken fronds within a foot of them. The dog was for an instant taken aback when he saw them. Its hackles rose and its lips wrinkled back. Then he charged like a buffalo.

  Three little plops, ‘Plop, Plop, Plop!’ in the brown Folly, and the gnomes were gone.

  ‘Seek him, Jet! Good dog, seek him!’ A huge hairy creature in velveteens with a gun under his arm pushed through the hazels, looking about him with wide open bloodshot eyes and half parted mouth. ‘Seek him, good dog!’

  But all he saw was a slight disturbance in the water and three dim forms, like frogs, swimming under the far bank.

  ‘Water rats,’ he snorted; ‘where the devil’s that otter? Seek him, Jet, good dog!’

  Giant Grum stopped, puzzled. Down on the shingle close to the root of the hazels, were the marks of a tiny fire, one little ember still glowed. Lying about were the heads of at least a dozen minnows and a few bones. He bent down and examined the shingle and the soft sa
nd. ‘What the . . .?’ he muttered, ‘what the . . .?’ He was absolutely nonplussed. For fifty years he had been keeper in Crow Wood and knew the spoor of every wild animal and bird. Never before had he found anything like this. The otter was forgotten in this amazing find. A fire, tiny footmarks, like the prints of human feet. ‘Jet! Jet! come here, good dog!’

  The retriever came pushing back along the stream. ‘Here, Jet, here!’ The black muzzle went ‘wuffle, wuffle’ over the sand and the man saw the short hairs bristle along its spine. Then the dog was called off and Giant Grum went up the bank. He lay down in the bracken and told the dog to be silent. For a full hour he lay watching the stream. But all he saw was the crinkling water and the nodding of the green hazel leaves.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Gibbet

  t was a jolly reunion that night in Squirrel’s drey, though somewhat marred by the death of poor Otter. Their good-natured host did not seem to mind how many people shared Tree Top House, and he had helped them up one by one, taking particular care of Dodder and his game leg. They took off their wet things and hung them up on the pine twigs to dry, cuddling down in the dry leaves and grass lining of the drey close to Squirrel.

  They were soon as warm as toast. Truth to say, Squirrel was quite enjoying this unaccustomed company, for he had got tired of living alone. There was so much to talk about and discuss and Squirrel made many helpful suggestions.

  Dodder agreed with the proposition to make Tree Top House their headquarters for the next day or two, while they thoroughly explored Crow Wood. If Cloudberry was not discovered, then they would go on up the Folly, to the source. If he were not to be found there, then they must give up the search and return to the Oak Pool. They talked long into the night, hearing many tales from Squirrel of the wicked doings of Giant Grum and the Wood People generally.