Rye and Poppy, racing in separate paths, reached the far sides of the wall. They cut across to the shelf that hung out over the waterway.
Rye was ready to dive in. Poppy held back. Rye looked behind. The beavers, furious at being tricked again but seeing where the mice were perched, galloped across the center of the lodge in pursuit.
“Jump in!” Rye called.
“I can’t,” Poppy cried. “I’ll drown. I know I will.”
“You must.”
Poppy braced herself, ready to do what she knew she had to do.
Suddenly, from outside the lodge there was a great THUMP. The entire lodge shook.
Both mice and beavers stopped and looked around.
“What was that?” Rye asked, awed.
“I’m not sure,” Poppy replied, equally startled.
The next moment there was a great gurgling sound. Poppy and Rye looked down into the water entry. To their astonishment the water was draining swiftly away. Nothing was left but mud.
“The water’s gone!” Poppy called.
She jumped off the shelf and landed in the mud and sprinted down the tunnel.
Rye followed.
When the beavers reached the shelf, they looked with amazement at the empty waterway. “Come on! You heard what Cas said, ‘Hit the water running.’”
“But it’s mud!”
“They’ll get away.”
The beavers leapt. Bigger and heavier than the mice, they sank deep into the mud. “Help! Help!” they cried. But the more they struggled, the more they sank. They dared not move, but could only wait and watch the mice scamper off to freedom.
CHAPTER 28
Farewells
WITH THE DAM BROKEN, the Brook soon resumed its calm, meandering state. The water cleared, the waterlogged banks dried. Almost overnight new, green shoots sprang up. Lilies quickly reestablished themselves. Once again butterflies and dragonflies danced lazily over the languid mirror surface.
The beavers retreated far up the Brook. No one saw anything more of them—not their teeth, their tails, or their dams—or heard their thoughts.
Within a week, Poppy and Rye were married by the mice’s old nest, which, after it had dried out, had been reclaimed by Valerian and Clover.
It was Valerian and Clover who, according to mouse custom, performed the marriage ceremony. Thistle and Curleydock held a canopy of wildflowers over their heads—another mouse tradition. The rest of the mouse family were in full attendance, giggling and laughing, squeaking and chatting, endlessly talking among themselves. As part of the ceremony Rye read all thirty-two stanzas of his poem in praise of Poppy.
She was charmed.
Before the wedding took place, Poppy went to ask Ereth to be “best porcupine.” The old fellow—who had retreated to a clump of trees beyond the ridge—refused with surly indignation.
“I’d rather wait here,” he grumbled.
“It would mean so much to me if you were there,” Poppy pressed.
“It would mean more to me if you weren’t there,” Ereth retorted.
Poppy considered him carefully. “Ereth, you never told me what you wanted to say back in the thicket.”
“Forget it,” he muttered.
“Ereth,” she said, “I know you don’t want me to say it, but you really are the greatest and sweetest of porcupines. And the ultimate best friend to have come back.”
“I only came because I couldn’t find my way home to Dimwood Forest,” Ereth sneered. “I needed to get you to get me back home.”
“But you did do good,” Poppy insisted. “If you hadn’t come, the beavers would have won.”
“Beavers . . .” Ereth grumbled. “Bunch of furry-faced chisels.”
“Well,” Poppy said, “I still wish you’d come to the wedding.” And before Ereth knew what she was doing, she went up to him and kissed him on the nose.
“Mouse mush . . .” Ereth muttered. As Poppy went away he started to rub the kiss away, but suddenly changed his mind. Instead, he sat for a long while, cross-eyed, staring at his nose.
Once the marriage ceremony was over, Rye announced that he and his bride would be leaving the woodlands and going to Dimwood Forest to Poppy’s home. The couple invited the family to visit as often as possible, and promised to return when they could.
Poppy made her own good-bye. “I have loved two of your sons,” she told Valerian and Clover. “What fine parents you are. We can only hope to do the same.”
They all hugged one another—with such a large family it took a long time—and then, side-by-side, Rye and Poppy hurried up the hill.
Ereth was waiting.
“Did you get stuck together?” he asked sourly.
“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Poppy said. “I would have loved you to have been there.”
“Love,” Ereth sneered. “The less said about all that slop, the better. Come on. Let’s go home.”
They started off. Early on, however, they came to the meadow where Poppy and Rye had first met, and danced.
Rye looked at Poppy. Poppy looked at Rye. They did not need to say a word. They held up their paws and began to dance upon the meadow. They dipped, they jumped, they swayed, they twirled and whirled.
Ereth, keeping his distance, watched from afar. Though he tried to hide it, the old porcupine allowed himself a small, hidden smile—and a tear. Catching himself, he frowned and turned his back on the dancers. “Love,” he complained bitterly. “Nothing but slug splat stew and toad jam. Phooey!”
But—Ereth never did wash his nose.
Excerpt from Ereth’s Birthday
CHAPTER 1
A Special Day
IN DIMWOOD FOREST, in the dark, smelly log where the old porcupine Erethizon Dorsatum lived, Ereth—as he preferred to call himself—woke slowly.
Not the sweetest smelling of creatures, Ereth had a flat face with a blunt, black nose and fierce, grizzled whiskers. As he stirred, he rattled his sharp if untidy quills, flexed his claws, yawned, frowned, and grumbled, “Musty moose marmalade,” only to suddenly remember what day it was and smile. Today was his birthday.
Ereth had given very little thought to what he would do about the day. As far as he was concerned, his birthday meant others would be doing something for him. And the one he was quite certain would be doing all the providing was his best friend, Poppy.
Poppy, a deer mouse, lived barely an acorn
