by BB
It was Herne the heron, a friend of the gnomes, for he often came to the Oak Pool for minnows. Dodder immediately gathered his belongings and went up the bank to have a word with him. To his dismay he found his leg was so stiff and sore that he could hardly stump along.
‘Good day to you, Sir Herne; I hope you have had good fishing?’ said Dodder, setting his bundle down on the bank among the water forget-me-not, and mopping his forehead wearily.
The graceful bird twisted his head sideways and looked down at him. Dodder did not come up to his knee-joint; the huge bird towered over him.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Dodder,’ said Heron kindly; ‘you look very tired, little gnome. What takes you so far from the Oak Pool? I have not seen you up here for many along day!’
Dodder told him and then asked the heron how much farther it was to Moss Mill.
‘A long way for you, little gnome; you should have stayed at home. I have seen no sign of your brothers, or their boat, and I have come downstream this morning, fishing all the likely pools. They may have reached Crow Wood, and I only hope they won’t meet any harm there, it’s a bad place—a bad place,’ he repeated meaningly. ‘I’ve got a nest in the heronry on Poplar Island, above the wood, so I know. You must not think of going there alone. But I tell you what I will do, Dodder,’ he added. ‘If you like to get on my back I will take you up to the mill. You may find water vole or somebody who can give news of the others.’
‘Supposing I fell off ?’ said Dodder rather nervously.
‘Oh, you need not worry about that, little gnome, if you hold on tightly!’
So saying, the bird sat down on the grass and after some difficulty Dodder scrambled up on to the broad back. He held on to his bundle with one hand and gripped a handful of grey feathers with the other and lay trembling violently.
‘I hope I shall be all right, Sir Herne; it seems very dangerous.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, hold on tight—you’ll be safe enough,’ replied the heron, getting up again.
Dodder was horrified, it seemed such a very long way to the ground. The big bird walked in a stately way up the bank, took one look round and then made a short run forward, putting down his head and spreading his great wings.
In a moment Dodder felt a rush of air which flowed over him; it was as though he was in a great gale of wind. Horror-struck, he saw the fields dropping away below, and the course of the Folly all the way back to the Oak Pool, and beyond. He saw the tops of the white hawthorn bushes in the hedges and the roofs of the mill and far, far up the valley, a dark fir wood . . . Crow Wood.
The heron seemed to take only a dozen beats with his wide vanes and then began a long glide. This was rather a delightful sensation, and Dodder began to quite enjoy the novel experience. There was no uneasy ‘up and down’ motion, the sweet air flowed past him like a cool stream. Soon he could see the individual grass blades, the cowslips and buttercups, getting nearer and nearer.
‘Hold tight, Dodder,’ said the heron over his shoulder, ‘I’m going to land.’ And as he said this his huge wings lifted up and he ‘stalled’ in the air. Dodder, taken unawares, let go his hold and fell head over heels into the cowslips, quite unhurt, though a little shaken. His fishing-rod fell one way and the bundle another, and he lay on his back gasping.
‘All right, Dodder?’ asked Sir Herne, rather anxiously, when he saw the little gnome lying in the grass.
Dodder scrambled to his feet, gasping for breath. ‘Yes . . . I’m all right, Sir Herne. I wasn’t quite prepared for that!’ He picked up his bundle and fishing-rod and looked about him.
About a hundred yards away he saw the mill and the willow swamp and heard the steady thump of the mill-wheel.
‘I must go now, Dodder. I don’t like going too near the mill, for I don’t trust that miller; he’d shoot me if he could.’ Then, spreading his wings, and not waiting for Dodder’s gasping thanks, he sailed away.
Dodder walked to the water’s edge and hid in the sedges. His best plan would be to wait until the sun was setting and visibility was not so great. He lit a pipe and watched the azure dragonflies flitting over the water with their fairy wings tipped with deep blue.
On the opposite side of the stream a fence came down into the water with strands of rusty barbed wire, coiled from post to post. Something was caught in the lowest strand, and at first Dodder thought it was some wreckage from the stream. Then his heart gave a mighty bump. It was the boat! One end was held by a rusty barb, pressed there by the current, and the bow was tilted slightly in the air. Inside it he could see two sleeping-bags and all the gear, which had miraculously survived the descent over the mill-wheel.
Dodder felt quite sick. This, then, was the end of the whole adventure! He would never see Sneezewort and Baldmoney again! Their boat had been wrecked by somebody or something, and his brothers had no doubt been drowned. Overcome with grief and horror, the poor little gnome buried his head in his hands and the tears ran down his beard, wetting his knees.
Oh dear! What would become of him now? He must return to the Oak Pool and live alone for the rest of his life! He could not bear the thought of it.
Soon a yellow wagtail, with a breast of bright sulphur, came tripping along the margin of the stream. It ran so fast its legs almost seemed to disappear. But it never saw Dodder, weeping among the sedges, and calling ‘chissick! chissick!’ it flew away with dipping flight, a bundle of insects in its bill, destined for Mrs Wagtail, who had a nest out in the middle of the water meadows.
As the evening advanced, little fat persons emerged from the meadow grass and began laboriously crawling towards the stream. They were toads.
With their round staring eyes and rotund stomachs they always tickled Dodder immensely. When they reached the Folly they just fell in, head-over-heels. As Dodder lay watching them from amongst the sedges one of them came up close to him, and he could see a pulse beating in its throat. Its front legs were bowed like a bulldog’s, and when it crawled along it looked uncommonly like a fat gentleman in his underpants.
Dodder couldn’t help laughing at this sudden apparition and it quite cheered him up. When it caught sight of him its eyes bulged more than ever. Then a green fly which was crawling up a stem suddenly vanished, licked in by a lightning flick of the toad’s tongue. Dodder wished it ‘good evening’, and the toad was so surprised it fell backwards into the water and Dodder was alone again. Poor Dodder, nobody would stay and talk, not even the toads! All he could do now was to retrieve the sad relics in the boat and return to the Oak Pool.
CHAPTER FIVE
Baldmoney and Sneezewort
aldmoney and Sneezewort were carried over the wheel and hurled into the mill pool, the concentrated weight and force of the Folly behind them.
They went under again and came up farther down, still hanging on to their bundles, but with scarcely enough strength left to pull themselves up the shingle.
For some time they lay gasping for breath, coughing and choking, and shivering with cold. They took off their wet skin jackets and hung them up on a bush to dry. Luckily there was long grass close by, dead and withered, and they dried themselves as best they could with this. The Dragonfly had gone, and with her most of their dry things, all their supplies, and fishing-tackle. It was a serious situation. Luckily for the gnomes, it was a warm night or they might have taken harm.
But gnomes are adaptable and ingenious little creatures. Not very far away there was a haystack in the corner of a field and they ran thither, completely naked, carrying their bundles and clothes with them.
They burrowed inside the stack and soon were beautifully warm, and there they slept until dawn.
As soon as the sun rose they took their clothes and laid them out in the sun to dry, and when this was done went back to the river to see if they could see any sign of the hapless Dragonfly. But it was nowhere to be found and they sat down on the shingle and held a council of war.
Should they return to the Oak Pool and fit out again? Shoul
d they abandon the expedition altogether, or should they push on? The latter course appealed to them most, but they were sorely handicapped by having no fishing-tackle and no means of getting food. It was a weighty problem.
‘If we go back, Dodder will only be superior and say I told you so,’ said Baldmoney miserably.
‘I know, that’s just the trouble, and we shall be the laughing-stock of the whole stream. We must push on, Baldmoney. We can soon make some fishing-tackle and we can find food as we go along. It will take us a very long time without the boat, but it can be done.’
And after further argument and a weighing of the pros and cons they at length decided to continue their journey, come what might.
From a rubbing post in a field they got a new supply of horsehair, and Sneezewort made some temporary hooks out of thorn-wood. By this time they were feeling very hungry, so they dug some worms out of the bank and began to fish. The minnows were uneducated, unlike the Oak Pool fish, and in a very short time they had caught a good number; the wooden hooks seemed to work quite well, though after a while they became soft and useless in the water. But they caught enough to make a meal, and thus fortified they continued on their way. They were glad when Moss Mill was far behind them and the sound of its wheel faint in the distance.
Now a new country opened up before them, fraught with hidden dangers. The Folly became unfamiliar and the meadows alien. Somewhere ahead was the dreaded Crow Wood where Giant Grum was reputed to prowl. The stream ran slow and sluggish between banks of reed, with here and there a deep pool studded with yellow water blobs, or water lilies. They saw plenty of fish, and at midday they decided to stop for a rest and lay in a supply. Baldmoney found a willow warbler’s domed grass nest, cleverly hidden among the dense waterside vegetation, and as the hen bird was absent he took four of the eggs, with Sneezewort to keep ‘cave’ for him.
After a lot of searching they also found some flints and so were able to get a little fire going, though it was rather a risky thing to do. They boiled the eggs in one half of a mussel shell and then had a nap.
High up in the blue sky little fluffy clouds sailed over, the cattle browsed knee-deep in golden meadows and cuckoos called all the afternoon. Even the buttercups were above them. Standing under this golden forest would have been a wonderful experience for us mortals. The buttercup heads were like miniature golden bowls suspended over their heads and, as far as they could see, this exquisite ceiling stretched away, with the blue sky showing in the open spaces between each flower—an azure sky studded with golden nails.
It was late evening when the gnomes awakened from their nap and, much refreshed, they began to make preparations for continuing their journey.
‘I’ve just had a good idea,’ exclaimed Baldmoney, as he strapped on his belt and hunting knife. ‘Do you remember Watervole saying we must make a map as we go along? All explorers make maps of uncharted country, and anyway it would be most useful to us if ever we get back to the Oak Pool.’
‘Yes, you’re right, Baldmoney, we must make a map surely. What a good thing you remembered; but how are we going to do it—what can we draw our map upon?’
‘That’s just the question,’ replied Baldmoney, fingering his beard thoughtfully. ‘What can we use?’
‘What about birch bark?’
Baldmoney shook his head. ‘No, birch bark won’t do; we can’t carry it about with us . . . I have it, my waistcoat!’
‘Your waistcoat—how so?’
‘Skin, don’t you see, the best parchment we could possibly have!’
‘Yes, but what are you going to write with? We haven’t any walnut juice, and even if we had, we could not carry it about with us—we’ve got enough as it is.’
‘Burn it on.’
‘Burn it?’
‘Yes, burn it. We shall always have a fire at night, I hope, and with a piece of wire, heated in the embers, I can draw what I want!’ (Baldmoney intended to draw the map poker-work fashion), ‘and what’s more, it won’t rub off and we shan’t have anything extra to carry!’
Sneezewort sighed. ‘I wish I had your brain, Baldmoney. I should never have thought of that. Let’s try it.’
Baldmoney took off his waistcoat and turned it inside out, laying it flat on the grass by the embers of the fire. It did not take them long to find a piece of wire from a nearby fence, and Baldmoney made a wooden handle for it, like a penholder. Very soon the wire became red hot and he began to draw upon the skin. He found he could make quite a keen black line. Of course he did not hold the wire in the same place too long, or he would have burnt a hole right through the skin.
In about an hour he had mapped out their route all the way from the Oak Pool. He even drew in Moss Mill and the mill-wheel and two little dots which were meant to represent their heads being carried under the wheel.
‘Why, that’s wonderfully drawn!’ exclaimed Sneezewort delightedly; ‘it will be a splendid map, and you can draw little pictures of all our various adventures as we go along. Won’t it be interesting to look at it when we get home again, and won’t Dodder be pleased!’
Baldmoney put on his waistcoat again and stuck his wire pen in his belt. Westwards the sun was sinking low over the water meadows and a faint mist was rising, spreading like a white veil over the flat fields. A plover called and a distant snipe drummed.
Three rabbits came out into the grass on the bank of the stream and began to feed. The gnomes could just see the tips of their pink ears quivering among the cowslips. These cowslips were not the long-stalked variety, which you find in hedge banks and sheltered places. They were squat and thick-stemmed, and of a very pale lemon yellow tint. In one field alone there must have been acres and acres of them, and their faint fragrance perfumed the evening air.
‘It’s time we were moving,’ said Baldmoney at last; ‘the rabbits are coming out to feed.’ He got up and buttoned his mouse-skin coat. They tightened their belts and cut themselves two stout willow sticks, then set off up the stream, keeping as close as possible to the bank.
What a wondrous evening it was, so peaceful and perfumed with all the smells of growing things; grass, reeds, the over-hanging bushes, the fragrant hawthorn blossom, wild iris and cowslips. On! it was good to smell the green earth, to be on their way again! As they went along, Baldmoney made a mental note of every turn in the stream, every pool and rapid, so as to be able to draw their journey on the map later. The Folly began to wind about, so much so that in some places it almost retraced its course, in figure of eights and S bends, so that after about two hours’ walking the gnomes had not travelled more than a couple of fields. But it was exciting, nevertheless, and they whistled a tune as they went along. Perhaps it was a good thing that they did not realize what a short distance they had covered or they might have given up in despair. But you must know that gnomes are persistent little creatures (you may already have guessed it) and nothing would have made them change their minds.
You may wonder that they now chose the dusk and evening to do most of their travelling, but like rabbits and hedgehogs, gnomes prefer this time of day to all others, and they were in strange country. One reason was that they were less likely to be seen, and another that their eyes were like those of cats and owls, they could see better then than at any other time. Perhaps this accounts for the fact that our great-grandparents so seldom caught sight of the Little People, and even on those very rare occasions when they did, they put it down to some trick of the imagination; it is so easy to imagine things in the shadows under the bushes. And remember that it is not everyone who can see the Little People; even if they were as common now as in medieval times, few would know of their existence. Grown-up people, it is safe to say, hardly ever see them. Why? you will ask, quite naturally. And I should answer, it is because they have grown up. Their heads are higher, like the tops of trees, whereas when we are small we are close to the ground and can see things more easily. But not all children can (or could) see them. As a child I only once saw one and then when I was lea
st expecting to. And another reason is that grown-up people are less like animals than are children. Adults are always so busy with the dull and the dusty affairs of life which have nothing to do with grass, trees, and running streams. I doubt if even you or I were standing by the Folly that May evening, and knew that the gnomes were coming up the stream, we should have as much as caught a glimpse of Baldmoney and Sneezewort.
•
As it grew darker the stream rattled more loudly, the splash of a fish was magnified, the faint breeze, rustling in the thick foliage on the banks, sounded very sinister.
Baldmoney as usual led the way, stumping along with his stout willow stick and his bundle on his back. After a while the bushes became more scattered until the Folly was winding its way through flat meadows, with here and there a pollarded willow growing by the margin of the brook. These trees seemed like distorted old men in the half light, with their twisted heads and bushy whiskers.
Gleaming rings widened from under one of them and they saw a round black knob pushing through the water towards their side of the stream. Both gnomes dropped in their tracks, for there was no knowing what the creature might be. But in a moment, a beautifully mellow whistle sounded down the winding course of the Folly, and they knew it was an otter. He climbed out on to a sunken log just below them and shook the water out of his rudder. He had such a quaint face which looked as though it had been sat upon, very broad-browed and with two merry little eyes set deep in his head. The otter heard the faint rustling as Baldmoney raised himself to see who it was and for an instant was watchful, strung like a bow, ready to slip back into the water. But in another second he saw the gnomes and came up the bank with astonishing ease.
‘Well, gnomes’ (all the Stream People seemed to greet them in the same friendly way), ‘this is a surprise. You gave me quite a turn at first—I wondered who it was. What brings you so far from the Oak Pool, little men?’
