Poppy stayed on the edge of the cornfield. But her time was not all spent waiting. She was too excited to remain in one place. Instead, she took time to explore the old barn at the other edge of the field—by the dirt road—and found it a respectable addition to Gray House. As for food, Poppy had never eaten so well. It was as she had first believed. There was enough in this cornfield to feed her family. In fact, all of them could move here.
During her hours of watching, Poppy met with no other small animals. At first she was perplexed. Then she decided it was because the fake owl was successful. It had frightened everybody away.
Not that Poppy put aside her porcupine-quill sword. She remained sufficiently wary to keep the sword at her side.
Once she almost used it.
At midday she was trying to take a needed nap when she suddenly heard something coming through the corn behind her. Taken by surprise, she leaped up, darted behind a cornstalk, and drew the quill, ready to defend herself.
It was a family of deer, a doe and two young fawns, though to Poppy even the little ones seemed enormously tall. Even so, they had not the slightest interest in her. Instead the animals threaded their way through the corn and approached the salt lick cautiously. With the mother standing guard, the fawns took a few delicate licks of salt until, at a silent signal, they all bounded away.
As Poppy tucked the quill back under her sash, it occurred to her that she might enlist the deer’s help in bringing the salt to Ereth. But from the way they had enjoyed themselves it did not seem likely that they would be willing to take the salt to the porcupine. No, she would have to find another way to make good her promise. Besides, the questions about the barn owl were more pressing. As far as Poppy could tell, it had yet to move on its own. Though Poppy was fairly sure it was a fake, she had to be positive.
That afternoon Poppy thought of a way of getting proof. The old cat was still stretched out where he had begun the day. The more Poppy observed the cat, the more certain she was that he was too old to be dangerous. She decided to ask him about the owl. The notion made her a little nervous, but she convinced herself that keeping her quill sword at the ready would be enough protection.
With considerable care, she crept out of the cornfield, all the while eyeing the barn owl—just in case. It did not move. At last she was standing before the sleeping cat, close enough to feel the wash and smell of his fish-scented breath. He was snoring. Gripping her quill tightly, but using her friendliest voice, Poppy shouted, “Hello!”
The cat opened one eye.
“Hi there,” the cat murmured. Although he had now opened both eyes, he did not move.
“My name is Poppy.”
The cat sneezed delicately.
“Bless you,” Poppy said.
“Thanks,” returned the cat. “They call me George.”
Poppy nodded. “Nice place you have, George.”
“Pleasant enough,” George replied.
“Ah . . . well . . . that owl sure keeps things quiet around here,” Poppy offered.
“Owl?”
“The one up on the barn.”
“Oh, right. The fake one,” said George. “Does the job,” he said.
“What job?” Poppy asked carefully while trying to contain her mounting excitement.
“Keeps everybody away. Even other owls.”
“How do you know?”
“’Bout two weeks ago the people here put in some chickens. First day some big old horned owl snatched himself one. Next day the people put up that fake owl. About two days later—I was watching—that real owl came back for another chicken. I saw him dive. Saw him catch sight of that fake owl.”
“What happened?” Poppy asked. Then she held her breath.
“That owl put on his air brakes so fast he flipped right over himself. Must have been scared silly,” the cat said with a mostly toothless grin. “Funniest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ll tell you, that was the last time I’ve seen that owl around here.” The cat closed his eyes. “Mighty funny,” he murmured.
Poppy could hardly keep from grinning. “Nice talking to you, George,” she said.
“Have a nice day.” The old cat sighed and resumed his snoring.
Poppy all but skipped back to the cornfield. Despite her excitement in proving the barn owl was fake, she made herself settle down and think things through carefully.
The owl was fake, but Mr. Ocax believed it was real. Afraid of an image of himself, he was probably fearful that he would no longer be the one to rule over the mice. But—according to Ereth—Mr. Ocax was not really a ruler. That was a lie, just as it was a lie that he was protecting the mice from porcupines, whom he actually feared himself. In fact, the owl was full of fears!
Suddenly a whole new idea burst upon Poppy. Was it possible that Mr. Ocax’s claim that he was protecting mice was merely his way of getting to eat them? The notion was astounding. But the more Poppy thought about it, the more it seemed to be so. It certainly explained things. That is, Mr. Ocax’s refusal to give permission for the mice to move to New House had nothing to do with what she and Ragweed had done. He had refused because he did not want the mice to know how fearful he was of losing his dinners!
But if that was true, then the mice could come to New House whether Mr. Ocax liked it or not. It was not for Mr. Ocax to decide where they lived but for the mice themselves! And oh, irony, if the family moved to New House, the fake owl would protect them.
Poppy was so sure she had found the truth that she stood up on her hind legs, leaped into the air, and kicked her heels twice. When she landed, she collapsed into a soft
