“Spruce,” said Poppy as they ate, “what do you like to do most of all?”
“I don’t know…,” the young mouse mused. “Probably doing something nobody else does. Just me. All alone.”
Poppy looked around at him. To Spruce she seemed very serious. “Is that bad?” he asked.
“Oh no!” cried Poppy. “You know, your great-uncle Ragweed—the one you look like—he used to say, ‘A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.’”
“‘A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do,’” Spruce repeated. “I like that.” And he gazed at Poppy and struggled to understand what it was like to be so old. Next moment he blurted out, “Then what is it you have to do?”
“Me?” said Poppy, taken aback by the question. “What do you mean?”
“It’s what you said, about a mouse doing…. Only I guess you’re…too old to do anything.”
“Oh dear! Do I look that old?”
“Your whiskers droop.”
“I suppose they do,” said Poppy, not sure if she should laugh or cry. Instead, she sighed, half longingly, half resigned. “Well, I have to admit I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
“That’s okay,” said Spruce. “You’re so old you don’t have to do anything. Only I still think you should do something.”
“Why?”
Spruce thought a moment. “Because I like you.”
“Well, thank you!”
Later, as they parted, Spruce said, “Grandma Poppy…Mom and Dad told us not to bother you.”
“Did they give a reason?”
“Because you were so sad.”
“Ah,” said Poppy. “I suppose I am.”
“But, can I still…visit you?”
Poppy smiled. “Anytime you want. My snag is nice and cool—and empty.”
“Okay,” said Spruce, and off he went.
As Poppy watched him go she thought, Now there’s a charming young mouse. And he really does look like Ragweed.
It made her think of Ragweed’s words again—the words she had quoted to the young mouse: “A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.” That, in turn, made her ponder the question Spruce had asked: “Then what is it you have to do?”
All the way back to the snag the question kept rolling about Poppy’s head. Then, as she stepped into her home, she considered what Spruce had also said: “You’re so old you don’t have to do anything.”
It’s true, thought Poppy. These days all I’m doing is feeling hot, heavy, and tired.
She set about straightening up the snag, but stopped and sat down and thought about Spruce instead. She had not been very much older than the young mouse when she met Ragweed. Closing her eyes, Poppy recalled the first time she saw Ragweed coming through the forest. Not only was his fur golden in color—something she had never seen before—he was singing and—oh, yes!—wearing a purple-beaded earring!
Poppy giggled. That earring…Ragweed had been her first love. Except, as she thought about it, it was not so much Ragweed she’d loved as his great love of life, his energy.
Poppy dug deeper into her memories. What was it like in those days when she began to spend time with Ragweed? Certainly, her life had begun to change. She had started asking questions. She had grown a little bolder. Then Ragweed died tragically. But his death led to her meeting Ereth and her great duel with Mr. Ocax, the owl. That, in turn, brought her to Rye, with whom she fell in love.
Rye had cared so much about life, and about Poppy, too, as well as about poetry and their family—all in the sweetest of ways. No, nothing flamboyant about Rye—just a steady, kind, and loving mouse. Oh, how she missed him!
How different my life used to be, thought Poppy. So many changes! Now I am utterly predictable! Nothing varies! She shrugged. It certainly would be nice if days were cooler and something different happened.
Poppy went back to thinking about Ragweed’s earring. It’s almost, she thought, as if that tiny twist of metal with its small purple bead was the spark that altered my life!
What ever did become of that earring? Poppy mused. Next moment she remembered: she had hung it on a hazelnut tree atop Bannock Hill so she would always remember Ragweed.
She gasped. But life became so busy I did forget about that earring!
All at once, Poppy felt an overwhelming desire to see if the earring was where she had put it. Never mind the heat. Never mind the lateness of the day. She must see if it was still there. In her mind, she again heard Spruce say, “You’re so old you don’t have to do anything.”
“No!” Poppy cried right out loud. “I need to see if that earring is still there!”
The next moment she burst out of her snag and began to scurry along the path that would lead her through the forest, across Glitter Creek, and up to Bannock Hill.
As Poppy scampered along, she could not help but notice how grim the forest looked—so brittle and dusty that nothing moved without crinkling. While there was still a little greenery, much of the forest seemed rusty and stiff.
Poppy came to a halt. “Stop thinking droopy thoughts!” she scolded herself. “Be cheerful!”
She began to run and soon reached the banks of Glitter Creek. Before her lay the old bridge, and beyond, Bannock Hill. Too excited to even look at the creek, she dashed over to the other side.
What a comfort it will be if Ragweed’s earring is still there, Poppy kept thinking as she raced toward the summit of the hill. “Oh, please, please,” she said aloud, “please be there! I don’t want everything to have changed!”
CHAPTER 5
Ereth Has Some Thoughts
DEEP INSIDE HIS HOLLOW LOG, Ereth chewed loudly on an old twig. He kept wishing the wood had even a tiny bit of green underbark for him to enjoy. In fact, the twig was no tastier than old chalk, so dry it hurt his teeth, so dry he could not even spit.
“Octopus ink ice cream,” he muttered. “It needs salt, too.”
Thoughts of salt made Ereth groan. As far as he was concerned, salt was the best-tasting food in the world. It had been such a long time since Ereth had eaten good salt, or any salt for that matter. He had left his last bit with Poppy.
Normally, his log home was damp and moldy, too, thick with the heavy reek of rot and poop. Ereth liked it that way. But the summer’s unrelenting heat had turned Ereth’s log into an oven, an oven filled with sand. The enticing smells he so loved had all been baked out.
And now, there was no rain.
“What good is the sky if no rain falls from it?” Ereth complained, swishing his tail so hard his quills rattled. He wished someone would dare to contradict him. Since he was alone, no one did.
“It’s stupid that it doesn’t rain,” Ereth rambled on, licking his parched black lips. “It’s not as if the sky has anything better to do! The forest needs rain. Animals need rain. Spider snot soup!” he bleated. “I need rain!”
Exasperated, he threw down the twig he had been chewing. “I can’t eat junk!” he cried. “Creamed caterpillar cheese on chocolate-coated cats! Even my quills are sweating! I need fresh air!”
Ereth waddled clumsily to the entrance of his log and stuck out his blunt, grizzled nose. He sniffed. The late afternoon air was as thick as greasy sheep’s wool. Everywhere he looked he saw dry leaves, dry grass, dry everything. “It’s all one big sawdust and sandpaper sandwich,” he panted.
Ereth tried not to look toward Poppy’s snag. Unable to resist, he peeked across. How he wished that Poppy would emerge and announce she was done with her sadness!
Next moment he was distracted from his longing by the sight of a bat darting about above him. “Bottled bat boogers,” he muttered as he eyed the bat with distaste. “I hate bats. Everybody does.”
He turned back to Poppy’s snag with a new thought. “Maybe…Poppy thinks of me the way I…think of bats. With disgust! Maybe she doesn’t want to see me, not because of Rye’s death but because…because she doesn’t like me anymore!”
The thought brought pain to his heart. “She probably finds me
dull, or stupid, or rude. Too loud. Too unrefined. Too…me!
“Things have to change. No! Maybe I…need to change. First, I’ll stop waiting for Poppy to come around. I’ll get out and about. Make some…new friends. Mingle with…other animals. Be social. Go to parties. Dance. Make small talk. Have fun! Maybe I should even stop swearing! Maybe I should start”—the word almost made him gag—“smiling!”
“Yes,” cried the porcupine with growing excitement. “Phooey on Poppy,” he cried. “Fried figs on frog flop! No! No more swearing! Swearing is stupid! Smiles are sweet! Poppy can stew in her own sadness for all I care. I need new friends!”
As Ereth spoke, a hot wind blew dust into his mouth and snout. “No!” Ereth bleated to nobody in particular. “I need coolness. Wetness! A fresh bath will give my new personality the right start. I’ll wash away my old self! But where can I take a bath? Glitter Creek! Yes!” And with a swish of his tail, Ereth headed for the path that led to the creek and began to run.
As Ereth rushed through the forest, his only thought was of the creek, which ran along the eastern edge of Dimwood Forest. He could almost see the fresh, cool water frothing and tumbling over rocks and fallen branches, gurgling with the joy of racing against itself, as if the creek had turned itself into a smile. Yes, a smile! Just like I’ll be doing. And oh! A cool, wet bath would be so silky sweet! Something worth smiling about!
The pleasures of becoming wet, of a bath, of soaking in the clear creek waters made Ereth fairly gallop along, thinking, Pickled pink potatoes! No! Mustn’t swear anymore. Never again! Still, I’ll take a swim. Don’t do it often, but I can and…I…I will! The perfect time!
He paid little attention to the heat, the wilted grass, or the drooping forest trees.
Maybe, thought Ereth, I should live closer to the creek. Take a bath every day. Not to be clean. Phooey on clean! But oh, oh! To be cool!
At last Ereth saw the open space that meant he was approaching the creek. Sweat trickled down over his eyes, stinging them, obscuring his vision. Not that Ereth cared. All he could think about, all he wanted, all he needed was to plunge into the creek’s crisp, cool waters.
He dashed forward.
When Ereth finally reached the creek bank, he, without bothering to look, leaped—only to land with a sickening splat! right in a bed of thick, deep, engulfing mud.
Ereth floundered in the mire, spitting out the sandy grit that seeped into his mouth. He began to churn his rear legs to get out. The churning only made him slip deeper into the goo.
“Barbecued buzzard barf!” Ereth screeched. “Help!” he bellowed. “Somebody! Anybody! Poppy! Save me! I’m drowning!”
CHAPTER 6
Ragweed’s Earring
POPPY SAT ATOP BANNOCK HILL gazing up at the twilight blue sky. Not a single cloud that might bring a drop of cooling rain was in sight. To the west, the setting sun was so brutally hot, it was as if it wanted to scorch the earth, as if it wanted to suck up every last measure of moisture from the parched forest, as if it wanted to toast the world into a crusty crisp. It made Poppy’s eyes ache.
She shifted her gaze and scrutinized the limp, dry leaves of the nearby hazelnut tree. In the slanting rays of the setting sun, something on a high branch glittered like a small star. Her heart gave a thump of recognition.
It is there! Ragweed’s earring! Just where I put it so long ago! Oh my, and thank goodness. Some things do not change! I really should bring Spruce here and show it to him. He needs to know about his great-uncle and about how I first came to Dimwood Forest.
How did I get here? She tried to recall.
Memories flooded back: how she had risked the dangerous crossing over Glitter Creek and then entered Dimwood Forest for the first time. Yes, Poppy decided—crossing the creek, that’s when my old life ended and my real life truly began.
A thought struck her: Perhaps if I returned to Glitter Creek I could start a new life once again.
Poppy smiled sadly, perfectly aware that she was being sentimental, foolishly so. It’s too late to change who I am, an ordinary-looking deer mouse with tan fur on my back, a plump white belly, and thinning, drooping gray whiskers. I just hope my black eyes are still sharp. Silly mouse! she chided herself. You’re too old to start anything new!
Suddenly she felt as if the whole world were reaching down and pressing a heavy paw atop her head. The notion brought tears to her eyes. “I don’t want to be sad anymore,” she said aloud. “I want to be cheerful.”
Poppy wiped her tears away with a paw. At least Glitter Creek with its clear, bright waters might lighten her mood. Not allowing herself second thoughts, she whispered, “I’ll go right now!” and hurried down Bannock Hill.
Poppy felt a flutter of excitement, as if she were about to see an old friend after a long time. But even as she hurried on, she heard a faint cry. “Help! Somebody! Anybody! Poppy! Save me! I’m drowning!” It was coming from straight ahead. From Glitter Creek! And she was being called!
Poppy raced along, her tail stretched out straight behind her. Darting across Tar Road, she quickly reached the banks of the creek.
Or what had been the creek. She saw now that the awful heat had dried up most of the water. All that remained were a few shallow puddles of stagnant brown water. Grasses had wilted. Not a single water lily was in sight. No water bugs, either. A few dead fish—white bellies turned up—dotted the mud. The air stank of decay and rot. Most of all, there was a vast amount of thick, gooey mud. And half buried in the mud was Ereth.
Mud speckled his face, ears, eyes, and quills. He kept spitting mud, too. And as Ereth thrashed frantically about, he kept sinking deeper.
“Help!” he cried. “Help!”
He looked so much like a muddy pincushion that Poppy burst out laughing—not just one short snort of laughter but laughter that was impossible to stop.
Hearing Poppy’s merriment, Ereth stopped struggling and blinked away the mud from his eyes.
“Poppy!” he screamed. “You stinky slurp of scab stew! Don’t just stand there! Save me!”
“But…what are you doing?” she replied, still laughing.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m drowning!” Even as Ereth cried out, he sank a little deeper.
Poppy, now fully realizing the porcupine’s predicament, called, “Ereth! Don’t struggle so! It’s making you sink faster!”
“But if I do nothing, I’ll sink anyway!” sputtered the increasingly panicked Ereth.
“I’ll think of something,” Poppy assured him, and she looked about to see what she could use to help.
Spying a dead branch on the creek bank, she ran to it and tried to push it toward Ereth. The branch, however, proved too heavy for the small mouse to budge.
Searching with greater urgency, Poppy noticed a tree growing out of the bank, its branches hanging over the creek bed. If she could move one of those branches low enough for Ereth to grab, he should be able to haul himself to safety.
“Hold on!” she cried.
“To what?” screeched the porcupine. “There’s nothing to hold but mud!”
“I’m getting something,” cried Poppy, and she scampered over to the tree, climbed its trunk, and ran swiftly out along one of its long, slender branches. When Poppy reached its end, the branch did bow down toward Ereth, but not nearly close enough for him to grab.
“Are you going to help me?” Ereth screamed.
“I’m trying!” called Poppy. “But I’m too light!”
“Then get fatter, you dangle of duck drool! Or I’ll disappear!”
Poppy looked around again. Farther back on the branch where she stood, an abandoned bird’s nest was wedged into a fork.
She glanced at the ground. Small rocks and pebbles were scattered along the exposed creek bank. “Don’t worry!” she called. “I think I know how to save you!”
CHAPTER 7
A Surprise
POPPY TORE DOWN TO THE GROUND, snatched up a pebble in her mouth, dashed back up, ran out along t
he branch, and spat the small stone into the nest. Then she ran down to the ground again and grabbed another.
Up and down and back and forth she raced.
“Hurry! Hurry!” Ereth kept calling.
Poppy went as fast as she could. With every pebble she dropped into the nest, the thin branch bent a little lower.
Puffing with exertion, and growing tired, Poppy dropped yet another pebble into the nest. The branch was now deeply bowed but still not quite low enough for Ereth to grasp. To make matters worse, the porcupine had sunk even deeper into the mud.
Poppy saw just one more possibility. She raced to the end of the branch, grabbed hold of its tip with two paws, and let herself dangle. With the added weight, the branch dipped lower, just over Ereth’s head.
As she hung there, Poppy shouted, “Ereth! You must get one of your paws free of the mud! Reach up! Try to take hold of the branch! Just don’t grab me!”
While Ereth made a great effort to do as he was told, Poppy began to pump her legs up and down, building momentum so as to bring the branch still lower.
Finally yanking his right paw free, Ereth stretched up. The bobbing branch and his claws remained inches apart; he could not grab it.
“Keep trying!” yelled Poppy as she pumped her legs even more vigorously so that the branch bobbed lower and lower. Every time the branch dipped, Ereth snatched wildly at it only to miss—although once or twice his claws scraped the wood just above Poppy’s paws.
As Poppy worked harder, Ereth stretched as far as he could with his paw and…“Got it!” he cried at last.
“Now!” Poppy shouted. “Grab hold with two paws. Then haul yourself up!”
Using the branch for leverage, Ereth pulled another paw free from the mud and seized the branch firmly with two paws.