“He’s going to knock the house down!” cried one of the mice.
There was a stampede to leave the porch.
“No! Wait!” cried Poppy. “Let’s see what he does.”
Breathless, the mice watched as the man went up to the bulldozer. He walked around it once, twice, occasionally tapping the treads with a boot. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“He’s going to start it!” screamed a mouse.
“Be patient!” urged Poppy.
A few of the mice edged off the porch, but most stayed where they were.
A sleepy Junior appeared. “What’s happening?” he asked.
“Come over here by me and watch,” said Poppy.
The man in the bulldozer reached under the levers and seemed to turn something. There was a great roaring sound as the engine started. Black fumes bellowed from the exhaust pipe.
“Now!” Poppy commanded. “Off the porch! Empty the house! Leave your possessions. Just go!”
There was no holding the mice back. With a crescendo of terrified shrieking, they poured down the steps and tried to get away. Some of the mice were agile enough to leap from the porch. A few, pushed in the rush, fell. Happily none was hurt or trampled. Lungwort, supported on one side by Lilly and on the other side by Sweet Cicely, came, too, with Lilly calling, “Please make way for Lungwort! Let Lungwort through! Please!”
Poppy, with Junior by her side, remained where she was.
“Hey, Mama,” Junior said, “don’t you think we better move, too?”
“We’ve got a little time,” said Poppy. “I can see what’s happening better from here.”
Junior glanced at his mother. Her calmness was a surprise to him. “You do like taking chances, don’t you?” he said.
As the man continued to fuss over the machine, the great blade lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped.
“What’s he doing?” Junior whispered.
“Shhh!”
With the blade up and more levers pushed, the motor roared louder than ever. Next moment the bulldozer jolted forward. The mice before the house began to flee.
The machine rumbled forward a few yards, turning first one way, then another, until it was aimed right at Gray House. Then, abruptly, it halted, blade up. The engine stilled. The man in the cab lifted himself out of the seat and stepped down to the ground. He began to walk toward the house.
“I don’t get it,” said Junior.
“Just watch,” said Poppy. “But if he gets any closer, be ready to run.”
A few yards from the house, the man stopped to survey the old structure, then continued on to the porch.
“Over here!” hissed Poppy. She ran to one side of the porch and hid behind a broken flowerpot. Junior stayed close.
The man stepped onto the porch, removed his yellow helmet, and scratched his head. He looked through the main door into the house and sniffed. Making a sour face, he kicked the doorframe and gazed about. On the porch he shook the old rail, causing it to fall off.
Slowly the man walked back to his truck. He took one final look at the house, exchanged his helmet for his peaked cap, and then climbed into the truck cab. In moments he drove off.
The mice watched in deep silence.
“I don’t get it,” Junior whispered. “What did he do all that for?”
“I’m not sure,” said Poppy, “Testing the machine, perhaps. I think he was deciding how best to knock the house down.”
“When’s he going to do that?”
“Soon, I suppose,” said Poppy.
“I hate him,” said Junior.
“Why?”
“It’s our house, isn’t it? Not his.”
Poppy looked at him. “Our house?”
“What’s wrong with saying that?” demanded Junior.
“I thought you hated it.”
“I never said that.”
The mice began to emerge from their hiding places and return to the house. Jabbering nervously to one another, they endlessly repeated what they had just seen, talking about what might happen next.
“Come on,” Poppy said to Junior. “I’d like to look over the machine. Maybe we’ll get some ideas. And I need to ask you a few things.”
CHAPTER 27
Learning Some Things
JUNIOR, CURIOUS ABOUT THE BULLDOZER, followed Poppy down the steps. The other mice, seeing the serious look on her face, said nothing, only made way so she could pass through.
“How did you get along with your grandfather?” Poppy said to Junior as they went along.
“He’s wicked cool,” said Junior.
“He is?”
“Yeah. When he was my age, he did all these crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“He took this trip on a boat. And there was that time he joined up with traveling performing mice. He used to be an actor. How come you never told me about that stuff?”
“I didn’t know about it,” said Poppy.
“Why didn’t he like my papa’s brother—you know, Uncle Ragweed?”
“Ragweed often questioned things my father said.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t believe that just because my father said something, it was automatically true.”
“What if I did that?”
Poppy stopped. “Junior, where’s Mephitis? I feel responsible for him.”
“Mama, you know what your problem is?”
Poppy sighed. “What?”
“You’re a mama all the time. Why don’t you just be yourself?”
“Just tell me about your friend.”
“I think he got nervous about meeting the family. I told him they would be nice, but he wanted me to come first. He’s waiting for me out in the orchard. Hey! Guess what I found out? His parents died.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Don’t know.”
“I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I only just found out.”
“Just?”
“Ma, he’s my freaking best friend! You don’t ask best friends personal stuff like that.”
Poppy sighed. “Junior, how did you even get to be friends with Mephitis?”
Junior shrugged. “I don’t know. Met him in the forest. He was all alone. Didn’t have nobody, so I just thought . . . I don’t know.”
Poppy stared at Junior. “Are you saying you became friends to give him a family?”
“Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, what’s the big deal? I like him. You got a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” said a bewildered Poppy. “Not at all.”
They walked on in silence. “Hey, Mama . . .”
“What?”
“You really are famous here.”
“Am I?” Poppy said.
“Yeah. Gramps told me about you.”
“He did?”
“I’m
