Valerian, more discouraged than when he went, returned to the nest.
“What did they say?” his children asked.
“We have to move.”
So Valerian and Clover began a frantic search for another suitable home. It was not easy. In the best of times good nests were hard to find. Now they had waited too long. Many creatures—caught in the same predicament as they—were already gone. When the mice finally found an acceptable new home it was on a hill, cresting the ridge overlooking the new pond: a small, damp hole with a large, cold boulder for a roof.
The boulder was perched precariously atop the hill. As Valerian considered it, he worried that it wouldn’t take much to set it rolling. That brought nightmarish visions of its tumbling away in the night, leaving his children exposed.
Clover sighed. “It’ll have to do.”
“I reckon it will,” Valerian agreed, trying to hide his worries.
Neither one mentioned that fitting thirteen children into one dank, chilly nest was going to be difficult.
Yet even after they had found their new quarters, they put off moving. It was too painful. Only when water began to trickle down their long entryway and make puddles in the middle of their main room did they finally pack their belongings.
These belongings—already mildewed and sodden—were easy enough to gather and haul out of the tunnel. Much harder was the removal of their children.
“Do we have to move?” the first complained.
“But Ma!” said another. “What about my friends?”
“The water isn’t that bad,” said a third. “We can make rafts. Build a houseboat. Swim from room to room. Be cool.”
And a fourth: “Do you really, really, really, really promise we’ll come back when the water goes down?”
“Dear, dear children,” Clover said, trying unsuccessfully to keep back her tears, “we have to go.”
Of those children who still lived at home, Rye was the eldest. Like all the golden mice, he had fur of an earthy orange color, a tail that was not very long, small, round ears, and youthful, downy whiskers. He did have a small notch in his right ear, but that was the result of a childhood accident.
Rye had never left home. He claimed he stayed behind to help his parents with the youngsters. Others suggested it was because he enjoyed being the eldest—which he became once Ragweed had left.
“Rye,” Valerian said, “take yourself and some of your siblings and go search out the rest of the family. Let them know your mother and I have moved to higher ground. Tell them where.”
Rye’s chest swelled with pride that it was he who had been called upon to inform his far-flung family about what was happening.
Thistle, his by-one-litter younger sister, squeaked, “Do we have to go to everybody?” She wasn’t even sure how many brothers and sisters she had.
“Absolutely,” Valerian insisted. “All sixty-three.”
“Now do hurry, Rye,” Clover said. “It’s urgent!”
Hearing the distress in their parents’ voices, Rye, Thistle, and a younger brother, Curleydock, sped off to do as they were told.
Later that day, the family moved. When the children were all out of the nest, Clover and Valerian took one last, lingering look about their old home. Side by side, she short and plump, he tall and thin, they held paws.Suddenly, Clover said, “Valerian, what about Ragweed?”
“What about him?”
“Who’s going to tell him where we’ve gone?”
Valerian pulled his whiskers. “Clover, love, I’d say that when and if Ragweed gets back he’ll see for himself that things are changed. That’s all.”
“What do you mean if?” Clover asked tremulously.
“Just saying, if ever we had a smart child, it’s Ragweed. He’ll find us when he comes looking.”
Clover and Valerian scampered out of the nest.
Within hours their old home was entirely under water.
CHAPTER 5
Some Words Are Exchanged
THE DAY AFTER they moved, Rye, Thistle, and Curleydock crouched beneath a tangle of blackberry bushes and looked out over the pond.
“There’s one!” Rye hissed.
A fat beaver had climbed atop a particularly large mound of sticks in the pond not far from the dam. It was dumping and smoothing mud on the mound’s surface.
“That’s their main lodge,” Rye said with authority, though it was Valerian who had informed him of that fact only the day before.
“How do they get into it?” Curleydock asked. As the family went Curleydock was on the small side, and rather plump like his mother.
“There’s an underwater passageway,” Rye said. “You have to swim deep to get in there.”
“Cool,” murmured Thistle. Tall and sleek, with swept back whiskers and narrow ears, she was a good swimmer.
“It’s not cool,” Rye said sharply. “They have no right to come and just take over everything. Look what happened to our nest.” He waved a paw over the water. “Gone. You call that cool?”
Thistle shrank down. “I was just saying the beavers’ home is . . . interesting.”
“Look!” Curleydock whispered.
Three beavers had surfaced near the shore. They tumbled and turned, smacking the water with their large, flat tails.
“Big, aren’t they?” Thistle said, her voice full of awe.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Curleydock said wistfully.
“Fun!” Rye snarled under his breath. “I hate them! I’d like to give them a piece of fun!”
“When Ragweed gets back, he’ll do it,” Curleydock said. “He’s not afraid of anyone.”
“Ragweed’s gone,” Rye snapped. “Besides,” he went on, “who needs him? I’m not afraid of them.”
Thistle stared at her elder brother with wide eyes. “You mean you’d . . . talk to them?”
“No big thing,” Rye replied.
“Except Ragweed wouldn’t say he would,” Curleydock said, and snickered. “He’d just do it.”
Rye felt hot. “So would I.”
“Dare you,” his brother goaded. “Double dare.”
Rye, suddenly nervous, said, “I’ll do it if you come with me.”
“You first,” Thistle replied.
Rye considered the beavers anew.
“See,” Curleydock said. “I told you. You’re no Ragweed.”
Rye offered his brother a dirty look, then crawled out from under the berry bush. Wanting his heart not to beat so fast, he yanked his
