“Papa,” Poppy began, “you see . . .”
Suddenly Sweet Cicely asked, “Poppy, what did you do to your nose?”
“It’s that—”
“We can deal with her nose later,” Lungwort interrupted. “What I wish to say first, Poppy, is this: As I made my announcement about the house—you did hear it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“When I mentioned making up a delegation to go to Mr. Ocax, I was saddened that not one of your brethren or sistern would look me in the eye. It was as if they were fearful. But you, Poppy, were steady on the mark. Your eye never wavered. Straight and loyal. I admire that in a young mouse.
“Therefore I have selected you, by way of a reward—and it is a grand one, isn’t it, Mother?”
Sweet Cicely, brushing at her ears, smiled thinly.
“Right, then,” Lungwort continued. “Poppy, I have selected you to go with me to Mr. Ocax.”
“You what?” Poppy cried.
“I know it’s an unlooked-for honor. But you heard me right. You will join me when I go to Mr. Ocax.”
“But . . . but . . .” Poppy tried to find words but could not.
“But what?”
“But Mr. Ocax just ate Ragweed!” Poppy blurted out.
There was stunned silence.
“Ate Ragweed?” Sweet Cicely finally gasped, her voice half gargle, half squeak. “Did I hear you correctly?”
Trying to stop her tears, Poppy nodded.
“When?” Lungwort demanded shrilly. “How? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I barely got back,” Poppy sobbed. “And when I walked into the meeting, I couldn’t just say . . .” Pawing the tears from her face, she whispered, “I couldn’t.”
“But to be eaten by Mr. Ocax,” Lungwort sputtered, “without even informing me . . . !”
Sweet Cicely suddenly turned on her husband. “Oh, stop that!” she cried. “We need to know what happened. Poppy, go on.”
Poppy, her heart heavy, stammered, “We, that is, Ragweed and I . . . last night we went out to Bannock Hill. I mean, we had never been before. It was such a beautiful summer night, and we thought it would be romantic. It was lovely. And he had just asked me . . .” Poppy paused to look at her parents. Certain they would not be sympathetic, she decided to skip some parts of her story.
“Then Ragweed found a hazelnut,” she went on. “He loves—loved—nuts. So he started to eat it. I told him that he should get under cover. He wouldn’t listen. And then—all of a sudden—out of nowhere—Mr. Ocax burst upon us. I hadn’t heard a thing. He was just there. He almost got me, too,” she added, pointing to her nose. “But he caught Ragweed,” she whispered. “It was awful.”
Sweet Cicely hurried forward, gathered her daughter in a hug, and patted her back. A very uncomfortable Lungwort kept clearing his throat and fiddling with his whiskers.
“And then,” Poppy went on once she was sufficiently calmed, “when I started back home, Mr. Ocax tried to catch me—again. But I managed to escape.”
Lungwort shook his head. “Poppy,” he intoned, “I’m bound to ask: Did you go through the proper formalities before going up on the hill?”
“Well, I, that is, we . . .”
“Come now!” Lungwort cried, his agitation bursting out as anger. “Did you or did you not ask Mr. Ocax for permission to go up there? Answer me!”
“No,” Poppy admitted.
“Well, then,” Lungwort said, “if Ragweed’s death can be an object lesson to the rest of the family, perhaps what happened will serve a useful purpose. Good out of bad, so to speak.”
“Ragweed wasn’t bad,” Poppy objected.
“I never said he was bad. But without doubt his thinking was bad. He was a rude, thoughtless, headstrong mouse. Not one of ours, may I point out. Indeed, if your friend had followed rules, if he had accepted things as they are, if he had listened to me, he would be with us today.”
“Such a short, unhappy life.” Sweet Cicely sighed.
“I warned him, Poppy,” Lungwort declared. “I did. Let no mouse say otherwise. Though he was no son of mine, I did my duty by him, but he would not pay heed. There should be a lesson learned from this.”
Poppy tried to protest. “But Ragweed and I—”
Again Lungwort interrupted. “Poppy, two things. First, I want you to go among the rest of the family and explain what happened to your unfortunate friend. Be so kind as to point out the cause: that you did not ask permission from Mr. Ocax. I desire no such tragedies to befall one of us. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,”
“Second, what I said stands about your coming with me when I request permission from Mr. Ocax for our move. Let’s hope your presence will convince him that, one, you truly are apologetic for what you have done, and two, in the future you will ask for his permission before venturing anywhere.”
So saying, Lungwort, with one paw about Sweet Cicely, went off, leaving Poppy and Basil alone.
Poppy looked after them for such a long time that Basil reached out and touched her. “Poppy?” he asked. “You all right?”
“Basil,” Poppy said with a mix of sadness and anger, “Ragweed wasn’t unhappy or bad. He wasn’t. Maybe he was cocky at times—but I loved him for it. I did!” Once again tears trickled down her face.
“Poppy,” Basil asked, “are you really going to go to Mr. Ocax?”
“I don’t think I have much choice, do I? Only I do wonder what’ll happen when he recognizes me.”
Her cousin’s eyes grew wide. “Think he will?”
Poppy pointed to the scratch on her nose. “How can he miss? He put this there.”
CHAPTER 5
Leaving Gray House
FOR THE NEXT two days Lungwort worked on the speech he intended to make to Mr. Ocax. He did this in his study, an old boot that Farmer Lamout had left behind the front hall steps. After lining the boot with potato sacking, Lungwort had chewed out a couple of windows, then used a plaid necktie to curtain the entryway.
Now and again he emerged, papers in hand. Seeking out older members of the family, he’d corner them
