The two rats waited a little while. Then they too stood up, shook themselves, and resumed their steady trot.
“This is very mysterious,” said Poor Cecco to Bulka, “and I begin to think that Jensina knows rather more about it than she is willing to tell us!”
Seeing, however, that the rats made no effort to overtake them, but just trotted steadily along in the rear, he began to take courage.
“After all,” he said, “we are three and they are only two. Let us put a good face on the matter, and before nightfall we may yet manage to give them the slip.”
So they kept on their way, chatting together, and affecting to pay no attention to the rats, who followed at a little distance behind them—pad—pad—twitching their whiskers and looking neither to right nor left.
At noon they sat down to rest in the shade of a lofty burdock, making a meal off some wild strawberries which Jensina discovered by the roadside. Not far from them the two rats also waited, panting, and not ill-pleased at the opportunity to rest once more and mop their foreheads. They, however, having no strawberries, could only sit and suck their paws.
“They will soon get tired of this,” Poor Cecco said.
But the rats showed no sign of giving up the chase. All that afternoon they followed on their track, and when twilight fell, and Jensina glanced over her shoulder, it was only to see four green glowing eyes in the distance, following like points of fire through the dusk.
The three friends called a halt to decide what should be done.
“We can’t spend the night on the road,” said Jensina. “At least,” she added, “not without a campfire.” For her gypsy instincts were still quite strong.
The chance of making a campfire, with no matches, seemed very slight, but in this they were luckier than they expected, for Poor Cecco, who had been sniffing the air eagerly, suddenly exclaimed: “I smell burning!”
Sure enough, on following him a short distance up the road they found, on a bare space of ground set about with juniper bushes, the remains of a fire which some passing tramp had lighted not long ago. The ashes were still warm, and by blowing on these Jensina, who understood such matters, soon had a nice little blaze started, while Poor Cecco and Bulka gathered twigs and straws for fresh fuel.
It was cheerful to gather round the fire and see the red sparks flying up into the air, and the smoke curling away overhead. The only trouble was, they had nothing to cook by it, and now that darkness had fallen no one felt brave enough to venture out of the circle of firelight to look for food. In fact, though they talked loudly to keep up their courage, they were all three very nervous, and at each sound of a crackling twig, or the rustle of grass in the distance, they looked at one another and drew closer to the blaze.
But presently their fire began to die down. Suddenly it gave a last little flicker, and went out. Now indeed they were in bad plight!
“This is getting beyond a joke!” said Poor Cecco. “I must study the situation!”
And he went and lay down by himself at a little distance, with his nose on his paws, thinking.
Jensina and Bulka sat in the long grasses and shivered. Bulka thought of Tubby and the toy-cupboard, and he began to feel very homesick. Big tears rolled down his nose, but he licked them up bravely as fast as they fell, so that Jensina should not see he was crying. The tears came so fast that he had to lick hard to keep up with them, and after a while this occupation in itself proved so exciting that he very nearly forgot his troubles, and when Poor Cecco returned he had just succeeded in catching the last tear of all on the tip of his red flannel tongue, while Jensina sat with her legs stretched straight out before her and her precious bundle on her lap.
Chapter IX
YOU ARE NOT INVITED
“WE must make dummies of grass,” Poor Cecco said, “and set them up, so that the rats will think they are us, and then we can escape before they find out that they have been tricked!”
“They aren’t so stupid as all that!” returned Jensina, who was both tired and cross.
“Very well,” said Poor Cecco, “if you can think of something better perhaps you’ll say so. I’m not anxious to stay here all night!”
At that very instant an automobile, coming along the road, slowed down just by the spot where the three friends were seated. The driver got out and went forward to attend to his engine, and in the moment that his back was turned Poor Cecco made a hasty sign to Bulka and Jensina. Hopping forward, they were just in time to scramble on to the running-board before the driver returned to his seat and the car started on.
“Where are we going?” said Bulka.
“It doesn’t matter where we go,” Poor Cecco replied, “so long as we get away from the rats, and they certainly can’t follow us now.”
“All right!” said Bulka. And being very drowsy, and tired out with the excitement of the day, he at once shut his eyes and went to sleep.
When he awoke the car had stopped again, and Poor Cecco and Jensina, one on each side, were shaking him violently to make him open his eyes.
“Oh, I thought it was morning!” said Bulka, as soon as he could speak. “Where are we? What are we going to do now?”
“Sh-sh!” said Poor Cecco. “Keep very quiet and follow us!”
Carrying the bundle, and giving a paw to Jensina, who was stiff and cramped from sitting so long on the running-board, he led them across the road and under a gate into an open field.
“I don’t see,” said Jensina, staring about her, “why you brought us here!”
Poor Cecco had no answer to make, for he did not know himself. The field was immense and mountainous and very lonely, lit by a slender moon rising above the hilltop. There were great mounds here and there, and twisted bushes that stood out black in the moonlight, like crouching beasts. Everything looked strange and rather terrible, so that even Poor Cecco’s courage began to fail him a little, and he wondered whether after all it wouldn’t be better to go back to the road. But here they were, and they must make the best of it, come what might. And while they were still looking about them, wondering which way to go, there was a great whirring of wings, and something dark and huge swept down on them from the sky, striking at Bulka and rolling him over and over on the ground.
Terror seized them; Jensina gave a shriek, but before Poor Cecco could spring to the rescue Bulka had picked himself up again, and there on the grass before them stood an enormous owl, rolling his eyes and looking exactly like a sulky cat.
“How dare you!” cried Poor Cecco.
“How dare I?” exclaimed the owl. “How about him? What business has any one to go about looking like a rabbit? I couldn’t tell! And besides, I didn’t hurt him.”
“You did!” squealed Bulka, finding his voice again after the fright. “You p-pinched me!”
“Cry baby!” said the owl, contemptuously. He rolled his green eyes at them. “What are you doing in this field? You aren’t real rabbits, any of you! Let me tell you at once, that if you think you can come here under false pretences, and put other people out of business, you’re mistaken! I’m the Field-Marshal. I won’t stand any nonsense!”
“We are travellers,” said Jensina shrilly, thrusting herself forward. “We came by automobile, and we have just as much right to be here as you. We are looking for a place to spend the night.”
“Spend it or keep it,” returned the owl. “It’s all one to me. You can suit yourselves. But as for that person”—pointing with his claw at Bulka—“he’d better wear a label if he doesn’t want to get into trouble again.”
“Insufferable creature!” declared Jensina, as the owl flapped heavily away across the field. “I can’t stand owls; they are all the same. Look!” she exclaimed, pointing across the pasture. “Something is going on over there!”
Something certainly was going on. One of the many hummocks in the field was hung about with twinkling lights, green and pale and golden, and as they drew near they could see that these were countless glowworm lanterns, hung artful
ly from the grass blades. The effect was both elegant and festive; the whole hummock was a blaze of coloured light, and beside the doorway stood a placard with the words:
GRAND FRATERNITY BALL
Second Order of Moles
YOU ARE INVITED
“A ball! We must go to this!” cried Jensina, who had lived so long in retirement that the mere prospect of a party made her forget all her weariness. “I adore dancing, but if it is a formal affair I suppose I had better put on my frock!”
And snatching the bundle from Poor Cecco she hastily unrolled it to get out her dress. She was so anxious to get to the party that she could not even wait to have the frock fastened, but began hopping towards the doorway with one arm thrust through the wrong sleeve hole. “Let us in!” she cried, and pounded on the door with her fist. “Let us in! We want to dance!”
The door swung open, and a mole, dressed in black velvet, stood on the threshold. He was plainly one of the ushers, for he wore a white flower in his buttonhole and pink kid gloves.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“We want to dance,” said Jensina, still struggling with her frock, which being hindside before, refused to go over her head.
“Have you an invitation?” asked the mole.
“Certainly we are invited,” returned Poor Cecco, and he pointed to the placard.
“Ah!” said the mole. Stepping outside, he turned the placard round so as to show the other side. It now read, in large clear letters:
YOU ARE NOT INVITED
And without so much as a further glance at them he went back into the molehill and slammed the door.
“Mean hateful thing!” exclaimed Jensina, ready to cry with disappointment. “Who wants to go to their old ball anyhow!” And pulling off her frock again she flung it away and sat down hard on the grass, looking very proud and sniffly.
“Never mind” said Poor Cecco. “I don’t suppose it’s much of a dance after all! When we get home, Jensina, we’ll have a great ball and only invite whom we want, and there’ll be lemonade and a cake with icing, and you shall dance all night long!”
But Jensina was not to be comforted so easily; her pride had been hurt, and moreover she could still hear faintly, through the closed door of the molehill, the scraping of fiddles and the shuffling of feet. So she continued to sit there, sulking on the grass, and to judge by her expression it was far wiser to leave her alone.
As for Bulka, he was dropping with sleep, so Poor Cecco propped him up against Jensina, with the bundle beside them, and set off alone to search for a night’s lodging.
Chapter X
THE WOODCHUCKS
WANDERING up the hillside, looking here and there, Poor Cecco presently came upon what seemed a very nice cave, warm and dry, and just big enough for the three of them, hollowed out at the foot of a tall rock. Here was luck certainly!
Poor Cecco had always had a passion for caves, and this was quite the best cave he had ever seen, and exactly the right size, whereas caves as a rule are apt to be either too big for cosiness, or else too small to get into, either of which is a serious fault. The sight of this one, he thought, would surely cheer even Jensina up, but as long as Bulka was already asleep, and Jensina probably wouldn’t come out of her sulks for another half hour at least, he might as well spend that time in making it still more comfortable. So he went out and began to hunt around in the moonlight for bits of moss and dry grass, enough to make a comfortable bed for all three.
It took quite a little while before he had collected all he needed and sorted it out into heaps, the softest for Jensina, the next best for Bulka, and the hard bits and odds and ends for himself, as he could sleep on anything. When he had got it all together and carried it into the cave, it made such a pile that the cave itself seemed to look smaller, and Poor Cecco decided he might as well make a good job while he was about it, and hollow out the end a little more so as to have plenty of room to sleep in.
While he was scooping busily away with his paws, singing to himself and thinking how nice it would all be when it was finished, all at once he felt a torrent of loose earth raining down on his head; the wall of the cave on which he was working gave way at the same instant, and he fell headlong through.
When he picked himself up, covered with dust and dirt, Poor Cecco found to his surprise that he was in a large and comfortable kitchen. A fat elderly woodchuck, with bushy white whiskers, sat smoking in a corner; his wife, with an apron tied round her enormous waist, was preparing supper at the table, and from a bed in the corner three small woodchucks, equally fat, poked their heads out, each with a white nightcap on, to see what had happened. All five stared at Poor Cecco in astonishment and some indignation, for it is certainly not usual for a total stranger to drop in on one suddenly through the kitchen ceiling at supper time, especially when he brings half the ceiling with him, as Poor Cecco had unfortunately done.
The old woodchuck took his pipe from his mouth and stared from the hole in the ceiling to Poor Cecco, and back at the ceiling again, unable to say a word, while his whiskers bristled more and more, his eyes grew rounder and rounder, and his whole body swelled up as if he were going to burst.
At last he recovered sufficiently to say, in a very angry voice:
“Wipe your feet when you come in at the door!”
This seemed to Poor Cecco unnecessary, considering he had come by the roof, but as he felt himself to be in the wrong, in any case, he began at once to excuse himself for his entrance.
“Rubbish!” said the woodchuck. “No sensible person keeps their front door in the ceiling! When you don’t see what you want, ask for it, and don’t go blundering about like that!”
Mrs. Woodchuck, who had said nothing all this while, but after one glance went on calmly slicing vegetables, now addressed her husband without looking up.
“It’s all your own shiftlessness!” she said. “Didn’t I tell you a dozen times, if I’ve told you once, that if you wouldn’t hike yourself up there and do something to that roof before the bad weather set in anything was liable to beat in on us? But there you set, and if the house itself fell in you wouldn’t lift a finger except to blame some one else. Don’t talk to me about it!”
Mr. Woodchuck, at this, seemed to sink down in his chair. He cast a timid glance at his wife, and hastily putting the pipe back in his mouth began to smoke again in great puffs. Mrs. Woodchuck, who had now finished slicing her last carrot, swept all the vegetables into a yellow bowl which she set down on the table with a slam, before turning to Poor Cecco.
“Sit down, young man” she said, “if you can find a place, and let me tell you at once we never subscribe to anything. I have no aches nor pains in my back, and we all bought new toothbrushes last week.”
“I didn’t come to sell anything,” said Poor Cecco, rather bewildered. “I dropped in quite by accident!” And he began to explain to Mrs. Woodchuck, who seemed the more sensible of the two, how he came to be in the cave, and about Jensina and Bulka, whom he had left behind in the field.
“Then in that case,” said Mrs. Woodchuck briskly, “the best thing you can do is to fetch your two friends and spend the night here, if the young lady isn’t too particular. We are simple folk and you must take us as you find us. We get along somehow. Luckily the farmer is keeping a better garden this year, and my old man gets a job when he can, but the lumber trade has been slack lately. The last few months I’ve had to take in washing to help out; to tell the truth the whole house is full up with it now and that’s why we’ve so little room. We’ve even had to move the beds into the kitchen, as you can see for yourself; I was thinking only to-day, I don’t see how I can possibly take in any more, do what I will, there’s no space left for it anywhere!”
Looking about him, Poor Cecco saw that every corner of the room was piled with bundles of laundry, each tied up just as it had come from the owner; in fact there was very little space left anywhere, and he thought at once that Mrs. Woodchuck would do better, instead of takin
g so much washing in, to send some of it out again, and he told her so.
“I know!” said Mrs. Woodchuck, untying her apron and rolling it into a ball which she flung under the table. “I know—I’ve thought so myself at times, but what can I do? There’s so much to look after in this house that I never get a minute, and besides—I hate washing. I was never brought up to it! And now,” she continued, “you had better go and fetch your friends and we’ll have a little supper.”
Mr. Woodchuck led Poor Cecco to the real doorway, down a passage so stacked with washing on either side that the woodchuck, being extremely fat, had great difficulty in squeezing past. “You see how it is,” he whispered hoarsely, pointing with his pipe. “We’re being pushed out of house and home, and to hear the old woman talk you’d think no one did a hand’s turn but herself!”
Poor Cecco ran down the hill, glad to be in the open air again. The ball was over; the lights were turned out, the placard taken in, and the door of the molehill shut fast. Jensina and Bulka were both sound asleep, leaning on each other’s shoulders; he had some difficulty in rousing them. Bulka in fact scarcely woke at all. He stumbled drowsily up the hill, dragging the string of beads to which he had clung through all his adventures, and when they reached the house Poor Cecco pushed him in at once, head first, among the baby woodchucks, who had pulled the quilt over their heads and were snoring soundly.
Jensina, however, aroused when she found herself in the kitchen, and became quite lively. She gossiped with Mrs. Woodchuck, set the table, washed the dishes and brushed off the crumbs, and altogether made herself most agreeable. And then, weariness overcoming her suddenly, she stretched out on the floor and was immediately fast asleep.