by Tor Seidler
Six dropped the flashlight in astonishment when a badger poked his head out.
“What do you want?” the badger grumbled. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Move,” Margaret said.
“What?” the badger said.
“It’s the woodchucks’ home,” said Margaret. “You leave.”
“I suppose you’re going to make me?”
“Us.”
“What’d you say now?” Seven asked excitedly.
“I said to leave,” Margaret told them in human speech.
Only then did the badger take in the three larger human beings looming in the shadows behind the child. Badgers are very stubborn and strong, but their claws are more effective for digging than fighting. He could have handled the one child, but four were more than he was up to in the middle of the night.
“I was getting sick of it here anyway,” he muttered, padding away.
“I don’t believe it!” Eight cried. “He left!”
“You really can talk to animals,” Six said, shining the flashlight on Margaret.
“Now what?” said Seven.
Margaret took the flashlight and crawled down into the burrow. The badger wasn’t much of a housekeeper. The living room looked no better than when she’d last seen it, and the bedroom was still full of mud. She stuck the flashlight into the dirt floor, turning it into a standing lamp, and got a handful of mud from the bedroom and carried it out.
Eight, the smallest of the other three, squeezed into the entranceway and started taking mud from Margaret and handing it out to the others. This way, the excavation went quickly. When the bedroom was once more a bedroom, Margaret made up the woodchucks’ beds; then she carried up the splintered furniture and got her older brothers and sister to help make repairs. Finally she took the sofa and chairs back down and did her best to arrange them.
When she emerged from the burrow for good, she was filthy. She cleaned some bird droppings off the top of the entrance mound and headed for the stream.
“You left the flashlight down there,” Six said.
Margaret kept going.
“Hey, I can’t fit down there,” said Eight.
Margaret turned and shook her head. She’d decided to leave the flashlight to replace the glowworms she’d scared away.
“Dad’ll skin us alive,” Seven warned.
Margaret just shrugged and kept going toward the stream, and after a moment Six laughed and said, “You’ve got to admit, the kid’s got spunk.”
They all went to the stream, and after washing their hands, Six, Seven, and Eight worked on Margaret.
“What next?” Six said when they were all fairly clean.
“Cave,” said Margaret, who wanted to tell the woodchucks about the burrow.
“What cave?” said Seven.
Eight yawned. “I’m sleepy.”
“Me, too,” said Six.
“Me three,” said Seven.
“Me four,” said Margaret.
They all laughed.
“You know, you’re not half bad, Margaret,” Seven said.
Margaret smiled.
“If she wants to check out a cave, we’ll check out a cave,” Six said. “How about a ride?”
“Fun!” Margaret said, climbing onto Six’s back.
Margaret pointed at the hill, and they tromped off in that direction. It was a bit of a hike, and they stopped to rest by a quaking aspen that was shimmering in the moonlight. As they were about to set out again, Margaret heard a flitting sound overhead.
“Bats?”
A pair of bats settled on a branch of the silvery tree.
“Margaret?” Ms. Bat said, astounded.
“Me,” said Margaret.
“My goodness. We looked high and low for you. Phoebe went into quite a decline after you left, you know.”
“She did?”
“She didn’t touch a blade of grass for days,” Mr. Bat said. “Wouldn’t even eat clover. Wasted away.”
“But don’t worry,” said Ms. Bat. “She’s on the upswing now. In fact, she’s eating more than usual.”
“Oh,” Margaret said, a little disappointed.
“Fact is,” Ms. Bat said, “she’s eating for two—at least.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re expecting.”
“Expecting what?”
“Babies. Fred and Phoebe are going to have babies. But come along, I know they’ll be glad to see you.”
Suddenly furious, Margaret stomped the ground, much as she’d once stomped tails. Here she’s been wanting to do something nice for the woodchucks and they’d already replaced her!
But the bats couldn’t see Margaret’s little tantrum. “Coming?” Ms. Bat asked pleasantly.
“No!”
“No? Well, can we give them a message then?”
Margaret shook her head angrily. But of course the bats couldn’t see this either, and as they waited for her to say something, her anger cooled to simple sadness. “Their burrow’s all better,” she finally said.
“I thought a badger moved in,” said Ms. Bat.
“Out.”
“We’ll let them know first thing in the morning. Phoebe will be so relieved to hear you’re alive and well. Anything else?”
Again Margaret shook her head. But as the bats were about to take wing she murmured:
“And say thanks.”
“Excuse me?” said Mr. Bat.
“Say thanks.”
“Ah,” Ms. Bat said. “We’ll definitely tell them that.”
The bats took off, and as the darkness swallowed them up, Margaret let out a sigh.
“I don’t believe it,” Six said, awestruck.
Margaret looked around to see her brothers and sister gaping at her.
“She can even talk to bats,” said Seven.
“It’s amazing,” said Eight.
“What a kid!” said Six.
And just like that, Margaret’s sadness flew off into the night along with the bats. Why should she be sad because the woodchucks were having babies? Didn’t she have a family of her own?
“No cave,” she said.
“You mean we can go home to bed?” Six asked.
Margaret nodded.
“Great,” said Eight.
“Let’s go,” said Seven.
And the three older children hoisted their impressive little sister onto their shoulders and set off for home through the moonlight.
Patience
The bats were always tired when they returned to the cave from their late-night excursion, but they never went right to sleep. This was their favorite moment of the day. While the other animals slept down below, they would hang upside down from the ceiling and have a little bat chat, their folded wings touching, their squeaky voices pitched as low as possible. Usually they discussed their digestion—how well the various kinds of bugs they’d caught were going down. But tonight they talked about Margaret.
“Did she seem nicer to you?” Ms. Bat asked.
“I thought so, yes. Shall we wake Phoebe and tell her?”
“No, dear, she needs her rest. Don’t forget, she’s sleeping for two or more.”
When the bats finally dozed off, the cave was perfectly still—except every now and then, when a breeze rustled one of the dried-up leaves in Margaret’s old bed. Just before dawn a splendid monarch butterfly flew down off the hillside and right into the cave, but she didn’t stay long, and none of the sleeping animals was awake to see her.
After sunrise a soft rosy-gold light filled the cave and Phoebe opened her eyes. Lately, she’d been the first to wake each morning, and each morning her first thought was that she must still be dreaming. But no, she truly was plumply pregnant!
What woke her so early was her excitement and also a queasy feeling—a feeling she didn’t mind a bit. In fact, the queasiness made her happy. But this morning she didn’t feel queasy, she felt as if she was about to burst.
Fred was nestled right b
eside her, as he’d been every night since Margaret had run off. Phoebe tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“Sorry to wake you, honey,” she whispered, “but would you mind getting Babette?”
Fred sat up and blinked at her. “You don’t mean . . . ?”
Phoebe nodded.
Fred hurtled toward Babette’s corner of the cave in such a rush that he stepped on the end of the sleeping snake’s tail.
“Ow!”
“Oh, snake, I’m sorry.”
“Woodchuck?” the snake said, confused. “Gosh, I thought I was having a nightmare about Margaret. What’s the big hurry?”
“Er . . .” Fred inclined his head toward Phoebe.
“Childbirth?”
Fred nodded. The snake paled and buried his head under a leaf.
Fred felt like joining him. But, luckily, Babette wasn’t so squeamish. She had personal experience in such things and was soon at Phoebe’s side, offering encouragement and useful tips. Fred watched nervously from a safe distance. He cringed when Phoebe let out a whistle of pain. But soon after this, Babette was placing a tiny hairless creature in Phoebe’s paws. There was only one baby, but it appeared to be in the pink of health.
Fred glowed with relief and pride. “All over,” he said, nudging the snake, who pulled his head out from under the leaf.
Phoebe’s whistle of pain had woken the skunk, who woke the squirrel, who woke Matt and the twins. They all crowded into the nook to admire the newcomer.
“Absolutely remarkable,” said the skunk.
“He’s so cute!” said the squirrel. “Or is it she?”
“She, of course,” Babette said. “Can’t you tell?”
The squirrel was too jubilant to be embarrassed. “She’s a real looker,” he said.
“She is, isn’t she?” said Fred.
“Completely adorable,” said the skunk.
“Awful puny,” the snake commented. “Hardly more than a mouthful.”
“Snake!” cried the squirrel.
“Just pulling your leg,” said the legless creature.
“Did I look like that when I showed up?” Matt asked.
“More or less,” Babette said.
“Jeez,” he said, making a face.
“Let us see, let us see!” cried the twins, who babbled all the time now.
“So what do you think?” Fred said, lifting them up to look.
“Wow!” they said.
“The miracle of birth is a truly stupendous thing, isn’t it?” said the skunk.
“Yeah,” the twins agreed—though as far as they were concerned the stupendous thing was that they were no longer the runts of the cave.
But of them all, the happiest by far was Phoebe. She was holding her very own baby to her breast. She was too full of joy to speak—until the squirrel got around to asking what the child was to be called.
“Margaret,” she said, reaching up and taking Babette’s paw. “After our beloved mother.”
Except for a hiss from the snake, this announcement was greeted with total silence.
“You don’t like it?” Phoebe said, sitting up a bit to look around at the others.
“Well, I guess it’s up to you,” said the squirrel.
“To me and Fred.” Phoebe eyed her husband. “What do you think, sweetheart?”
Fred set the twins down and stroked the baby’s head. “How about Patience?” he said.
“Patience?”
The baby let out a little cooing whistle.
“What a remarkably mellifluous name,” said the skunk.
“It’s perfect!” said the squirrel.
“Could be worse,” said the snake.
“Patience,” Phoebe said. “You know, it does have kind of a nice ring to it.”
“Great,” said Matt. “Can I have breakfast now?”
“Gosh, the bats are still asleep,” said the squirrel. “We have to tell them.”
“Bats!” cried Matt.
The bats, who were suspended from the ceiling at the other end of the cave, opened their blind eyes sleepily. “What is it?” Mr. Bat said.
“Aunt Phoebe did it!” said Matt.
The bats immediately flew over to the nook. “Congratulations, woodchucks,” Ms. Bat said. “How many?”
“Just one,” said Fred. “But she’s a peach.”
“Well done,” said Mr. Bat. “What are you going to call her?”
“Patience,” said Phoebe.
“What a lovely name,” Ms. Bat said, nudging Mr. Bat’s wing. “You know, dear, maybe it’s about time you and I thought about having a—”
“Ahem,” said Mr. Bat. “We’ve got some interesting news for you, woodchucks. Guess who we ran into last night.”
“Who?” said Fred.
“Margaret.”
“What!” Phoebe cried. “Where?”
“Not all that far from here.”
The animals exchanged anxious glances—except Phoebe, who asked eagerly if the child was all right.
“She’s fine,” Ms. Bat said. “Seemed rather improved, as a matter of fact.”
“That wouldn’t be hard,” the snake muttered.
“Is she coming back?” Fred asked uneasily.
“I don’t think so,” said Mr. Bat. “I believe she was with other humans.”
Sighs of relief escaped all the animals except the new mother. “Did she say anything?” Phoebe asked, holding her baby tighter.
“She said your burrow’s all better—something like that,” Mr. Bat said. “And she said to thank you.”
“To thank us?” Phoebe said, amazed.
“What about the badger?” said Fred, who was interested in the burrow.
“According to her, the badger’s gone,” said Mr. Bat.
“This I have to see,” said Fred. “Will you be okay, dear, if I . . . ?”
“We’ll be fine,” Phoebe said, and she started to nurse the baby.
Fred scampered out into the morning sun. It was already a gorgeous summer day, but he was far too eager to see his old home to notice the weather. When he got to the familiar entrance mound, he stopped and called in. No one answered. He swallowed hard and went down into the burrow.
It wasn’t long before a very happy woodchuck returned to the cave. The skunk was helping Babette give Matt and the twins breakfast. The squirrel had gotten Phoebe’s permission to hold Baby Patience, but even though the tiny thing was sound asleep in his paws, Fred was too excited to whisper.
“You won’t believe it, Phoebe! The place is empty and good as new! Even the furniture’s fixed—after a fashion. And there’s a magical lamp you can turn off and on!”
Patience woke with a gurgle.
“Good heavens,” Phoebe said. “Could it be Margaret’s doing?”
“It must be.”
Phoebe beamed. It seemed Margaret really had appreciated them a bit after all.
“Guess what!” Fred said, turning to the others. “Our old burrow’s . . .”
His voice trailed off. Nobody was smiling. In fact, they all looked gloomy. The squirrel looked positively crestfallen.
“What’s the matter?” Fred said.
“I suppose this means you’ll be leaving us,” the squirrel said.
“The otter told me the water level’s gone down back at our place,” Babette said with a sigh. “If you leave, we should probably go, too.”
“Oh, dear,” the skunk said, wiping snail juice off the twins’ snouts.
“What does that waterlogged otter know?” the snake said under his breath.
“There’s more room here, Mom,” Matt whined. “And it’s more fun.”
“Yeah,” piped the twins.
“And Mr. Bat’s going to teach me to hang from the ceiling,” Matt said. “Right, Mr. Bat?”
“If it’s okay with your mother,” Mr. Bat said.
“Gosh,” said the squirrel, rocking the baby. “I was really looking forward to babysitting Patience.”
Phoebe took Fred
’s paw. “Do you really want to go back, dear?”
Fred looked around at the menagerie of creatures in the messy cave. He’d been thrilled at the idea of returning to his tidy, private burrow, but now he wasn’t quite so sure. With Margaret gone, the cave seemed to have changed. Or could it be that he had changed? Somehow, having everything just so didn’t seem all-important anymore.
“Now that you mention it,” he said, giving Phoebe a squeeze, “I’ve gotten kind of used to it here.”
“Hurray!” cried the squirrel, bouncing the baby in his lap.
“Yippee!” squeaked the bats.
“A remarkably wise decision,” said the skunk.
“Maybe we’ll stay, too,” Babette said.
“Thanks, Mom!” cried Matt.
“Of course,” said Fred, turning to the snake, “we should ask if any of the original tenants object.”
“Well, it’s okay by me,” said the snake. “So long as those raccoons and porcupines aren’t traipsing in here all the time—and that other river riffraff.”
“I suppose I could tell them to keep away,” Babette said, giving him a smile.
“So it’s settled then, snake?” said Fred.
“Well, I don’t see why not,” the snake said, lifting his head a bit. “What with all the good influences around here, I wouldn’t think it would be such a bad place to bring up what’s-her-name . . . uh, Patience.”
And it wasn’t.
TOR SEIDLER is the critically acclaimed and bestselling author of over a dozen children’s books, including A Rat’s Tale, Wainscott Weasel, and The Revenge of Randal Reese-Rat. He lives in New York City.
JON AGEE is the author and illustrator of many beloved books for children, including Little Santa, Milo’s Hat Trick, and The Incredible Painting of Felix Clousseau (all ALA Notable Books). He lives in San Francisco.
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Also by Tor Seidler
The Wainscott Weasel
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