Whatever the truth, Mr. Ocax decided that he had to remain on the alert. Sleep less. Patrol more. As his mother used to tell him, “An alert owl is a well-fed owl.” In particular, he must keep his eyes open for that mouse, the one named Poppy.
Scampering from bush to bush, Poppy soon reached the banks of Glitter Creek. There she stopped to gaze nervously at the far side and the towering trees of Dimwood Forest. Her first task, however, was to get over the water.
At the spot where she stood, Glitter Creek was as wide as the length of Gray House. Usually the water flowed with tranquillity. Not now. Though the bright water was moving far less rapidly than on the night of the storm, the flow still tumbled, twisted, and foamed around the many rocks that stuck up from the creek bed. Poppy realized that she’d never be able to swim across.
She could walk downstream and cross the Bridge. But the Bridge was situated exactly where Mr. Ocax had his watching tree, the last spot she desired to revisit.
No, as Poppy saw it, the only way for her to get across the creek was by jumping from rock to rock. She climbed a tree stump for a better view, and set about figuring a route. Though it took a while, she found a path that required fourteen jumps. The only problem would come on the ninth. On that rock a turtle was sleeping. Even so, she thought she’d have room enough to make a quick landing and leap away. The turtle might not even notice.
On the creek bank again, Poppy crouched, ready to take her first jump. Just as she was about to spring, she stopped. Once over the water, how could she return home?
Even as she hesitated, a breeze fluttered Ragweed’s earring. The tickle it brought reminded Poppy of the reasons for her mission. Resolved anew, she gave a leap and landed deftly on the first of the rocks, then the second, and the third. On she jumped, gaining confidence as she progressed. The eighth jump, however, required a pause. Her next leap would land her on the turtle’s rock, but because he had shifted position, there was no longer any room for her to land.
“Hey, Turtle!” Poppy shouted. “Would you please move?”
The turtle slept on.
In search of an alternate route, Poppy noted a small, low rock not far upstream. It was covered with moss. To reach it would require a difficult though not impossible jump. She saw no other choice.
Poppy took a deep breath and kicked. Her leap was high and far enough. She landed right on the small rock, but unfortunately its moss was wet and slimy. The moment she hit it, her feet shot out from under her. A quick skid plopped her into and under the water.
Spitting and coughing, Poppy clawed her way back to the surface. For an instant she floated downstream; then a wave picked her up and pinned her against another rock. “Help! Help!” she cried. The next moment, another wave whisked her away.
Mr. Ocax, gliding over Farmer Lamout’s fields, heard Poppy’s call for help. From the west, wasn’t it? He banked sharply and headed in the direction of Glitter Creek.
Paddling furiously, Poppy struggled to keep her nose above water. Despite her efforts, she was swept on. She spun downstream like a whirligig. Then, abruptly, she felt herself wedged between two rocks. Water washed over her. As she gasped for air, she sensed that if she stayed put it would be only a matter of time—a short time—before she drowned.
Wrenching one paw free, she groped for something to cling to. What she found was the slimy root of a water lily. She tried to hold on. The root slipped from her grasp.
She reached out again and managed to find the lily’s stem. Snorting to keep nose and mouth free of water, Poppy hauled in. Bit by bit she began to rise.
Something in the water of Glitter Creek caught Mr. Ocax’s eyes. To his surprise, he saw a mouse struggling with a water lily.
Poppy worked frantically to pull herself higher. She was now only belly-deep. With a few more pulls on the stem she would be safe.
Circling above, Mr. Ocax watched the mouse struggle to climb atop the rock. The moment it reached it, he was prepared to dive.
Poppy nearly had her footing on the rock when the lily stem snapped. Her balance lost, she tumbled back into the creek. The moment she struck the water, a wave pummeled her below the surface.
Just as Mr. Ocax dived, the mouse he was watching suddenly dropped into the water. When it failed to reappear, he assumed the creature had drowned. His patience frazzled, he pumped his wings, rose on a gust of air, and turned toward New House. A day had passed since he had been there. He needed to check it again.
Poppy, desperate for air, bobbed to the surface like a cork. Once again she was swept along. Her strength was ebbing. Desperately she sought something to hold on to. She found nothing. Down the creek she went.
Then the creek widened. The water grew less turbulent. Aware that this was probably the last chance she’d have to save herself, Poppy summoned her remaining strength and began to swim frantically. Slowly, painfully, she pulled free of the stream’s main force. She bumped against a stone, then ricocheted into a calm backwater. She stretched her toes down—and touched bottom!
Half-crawling, half-swimming, she clawed her way up the creek bank. When she reached the grass, she flung herself down, coughing violently.
For a long time Poppy lay on her back, eyes closed, capable of only gasping breaths. Then she rolled over and threw up the last of the swallowed water. At last she gave a shuddering groan of relief.
On the
