The Little Grey Men

by BB

  ‘White Stoats?’ queried the gnomes. ‘White Stoats? What do you mean? I thought you said you never saw Stoat in this wood!’

  ‘Not Stoat, but another just as bad. He’s in the pay of Giant Grum, and in return for board and lodging he comes and kills our people. But it’s all right, it’s all over now until next autumn. Then the fun begins.’ (Bub’m meant ferrets.)

  ‘Well, well,’ said the gnomes again, ‘this is a queer sort of wood.’ And then they remembered the true object of their journey. In the excitement of the Giant’s footsteps they had quite forgotten.

  ‘You were telling us, Bub’m, about a story you heard about another gnome who came up the stream,’ Baldmoney reminded her.

  ‘Oh! yes, to be sure I was, when that dreadful THING came along. Well, mind you, it was a long time ago, but I remember my parents telling me about a gnome who came up the Folly and lived for a time in the wood. He made a lot of friends among the animals, I believe, and left a very good name behind him. I don’t know what happened to him; whether he was killed by Giant Grum or not I can’t tell you, but there are all sorts of legends about him. He told everyone he was looking for the Folly Source, why, I can’t imagine! Now, gnomes, if you don’t very much mind, I want a sleep.’

  ‘And we want some breakfast,’ said Baldmoney. ‘Come on, Sneezewort, I’m terribly hungry, and before we do anything else we must get some food.’

  ‘I’m only sorry I’ve nothing to offer you,’ said Bub’m apologetically. ‘I never keep food in the house, it smells so. Anyway, what’s the point, when it’s growing on your doorstep? You will find plenty of nice young grass, higher up the bank, and I can recommend the ash bark this year—it’s delicious!’

  ‘Bark! Grass!’ snorted Baldmoney, as the two gnomes made their way down the passage to the open air; ‘whatever does she take us for, Bub’ms, or cows? Bark! Grass! The very idea,’ and he sniffed indignantly.

  ‘I don’t like that old Bub’m much,’ confided Sneezewort; ‘she’s always sniffing and superior. She seems to think a lot of this beastly old wood, but if you ask me, all the animals seem at loggerheads. Give me the Oak Pool any day.’

  ‘Wasn’t that Giant perfectly awful—the sound, I mean?’ said Sneezewort. ‘Did you ever hear anything so horrid as those, bump, bumping footsteps? Why he must be enormous! And that awful thunder club, did you ever hear such a noise in all your life? It was as bad as a thunderstorm.’

  They came out of the hole and stood for a minute or two listening. Baldmoney nudged Sneezewort and pointed to the loose sand round the burrow mouth. He said nothing, he just pointed.

  Sneezewort saw the prints of an enormous hobnailed boot imprinted in the red earth and farther on they stumbled over a cylinder of purple cardboard, a cartridge case. It was like nothing they had ever seen before and smelt of gunpowder. The copper cap on the end might be useful, for gnomes are passionately fond of bright metal. They cut the cardboard off and Sneezewort put the metal cap in his pocket.

  They were just on the point of going down the bank again to the stream when a small stick struck Baldmoney on the top of the head, making him jump yards.

  ‘Good gracious, by the great god Pan, what was that?’

  They looked up and saw a grey squirrel scolding them from a fork in a pine-tree. He was saying quite a lot of rude things, fluffing his tail and throwing sticks at them.

  ‘What a rude squirrel,’ exclaimed Sneezewort; ‘really, the animals here are impolite.’

  ‘Hullo! Gnomes, looking for gold? You’re the first gnomes I’ve seen; what funny little things you are, to be sure!’

  Baldmoney waggled his beard disapprovingly. ‘You rude thing, throwing things like that. You’ve forgotten your manners. That’s the worst of these grey foreign squirrels,’ he said in an aside to Sneezewort, ‘you wouldn’t find a red squirrel doing that sort of thing.’

  ‘Hi! squirrel,’ Baldmoney called, ‘stop throwing things at us and come and make friends. We want to meet you.’

  The squirrel looked rather shamefaced and came down the tree head first. He didn’t seem to bother which way up he was. He bounced on to the pine needles and looked at them rather impudently.

  ‘Why, bless me, what funny little creatures!’ He shook with laughter and seemed almost doubled up. Ignoring his rudeness, the gnomes still tried to be polite, though both their faces were a trifle redder usual; nobody likes to be laughed at. And after all, you must remember that the gnomes were so much older than Squirrel and so much more English; indeed they were the most English things in England. And Grey Squirrel was only a foreigner and had not been introduced into this country very long. He came from America, which accounted for the boisterous, hail-fellow-well-met manner; yet, despite the stick-throwing incident, he was an excellent fellow at heart.

  The gnomes told him everything, and when he had heard their story to the finish, right up to their meeting with Bub’m and the terrible footsteps of the giant, he made a very sensible suggestion.

  ‘Well, gnomes, after all that, it seems to me you must want one thing more than any other at this moment, and that’s some breakfast, or is it supper? The best thing you can do is to come up into my drey in the top of the pine there and have a meal. You will be out of the way of giants and can get a fine view from the top, in fact, it’s the best view in the wood,’ he added proudly.

  The gnomes thanked him profusely, but did not quite see how they were going to get right to the top of the tree, it would take such a long time to climb. But Grey Squirrel soon overcame a little thing like that. ‘Climb on my back and put your arms round my neck and we’ll be up in a jiffy!’

  Baldmoney went first and then Squirrel came down for Sneezewort, and the next minute all three were safe and snug in the stick nest in the tree top. It was quite roomy inside, lined with soft leaves, and not a bit draughty. The squirrel told them to make themselves at home and then searched about for some food.

  ‘I hope you like nuts, gnomes,’ he said, ‘because I’ve got some extra good ones put away at the foot of the tree; name your choice—pig, hazel, walnut, or beech, you can have which you like; or shall I bring you some mixed allsorts?’

  Gnomes are passionately fond of nuts, for they form the staple food of the little people in the autumn.

  ‘We don’t mind,’ said Sneezewort politely; ‘it all sounds very nice.’

  ‘Very well, goodbye, gnomes, I won’t be long,’ and he disappeared down the tree.

  ‘What a nice person,’ said Baldmoney after he had gone. ‘He improves a lot on acquaintance, much better than old Bub’m.’

  While Squirrel was away they had time to admire the scenery. There was no doubt about it, Squirrel had chosen a very nice view. In one direction the gnomes could look out along the tops of the pines and oaks which stretched almost as far as they could see. What was rather curious, however, was that some of the trees were above them and some below, for the pine was on the steep side of the hill. In a gap in the needles they could see the gleam of the Folly, though they could not hear it, and away on the other side of the valley were green fields and more trees. A tiny thread of blue smoke was rising up in the evening air from the centre of some dark pines.

  Sneezewort pointed it out to Baldmoney. ‘There must be a house there,’ he said in a puzzled tone; ‘what a funny place to have a house, right in the middle of a wood. We must ask Squirrel about it . . . O dear! I wish he would be quick, I’m so hungry!’

  ‘And so am I,’ said Baldmoney, rubbing his little tummy ruefully; ‘perhaps he won’t be long now.’

  But they waited and waited, and soon they saw the red sun sinking lower over the far hills until it dipped down behind them, seeming to get larger as it caught the trees and to move more swiftly. Away over the wood, the west was duck-egg green, flecked with gold cloudlets. Darker and darker it grew, and still no Squirrel appeared. Baldmoney looked out of the drey, right down, down, to the wood floor. It seemed such a long way he felt quite dizzy. At last they felt the tree s
hake a little and the next moment Squirrel appeared, very shamefaced and apologetic.

  ‘Really, I’m most awfully sorry, but my store of nuts seems to have gone; I can’t find it anywhere.’

  ‘Oh! you squirrels,’ sighed Baldmoney, ‘you are all alike: you gather your nuts and hide them and forget where you’ve put them. The red squirrels are just the same.’

  ‘Perhaps one of you would like to come and help me look, though it’s getting rather dark,’ said the squirrel after a rather awkward pause. So Baldmoney went down the tree with him and in about five minutes both were back with all the nuts they could carry. Baldmoney had soon smelt them out, though they were under another tree a long way from where Squirrel thought he had hidden them.

  So they had a fine meal, and when all was finished they tucked themselves up in the drey and talked long into the night. The stars came out one by one, and then the moon (which was now getting quite big) cast a curious silvery greenish light over the tops of the trees.

  Squirrel talked incessantly about all kinds of things, chiefly of the American woods where his forbears came from, and about strange things called chipmunks, bobolinks, summer yellowlegs, and all kinds of little people of which the gnomes had never heard. He spoke almost as if he had been there himself (though, of course, he hadn’t; it was only what had been passed on from squirrel to squirrel). He told them of Crow Wood, and the Giant, and the cruel things he did, and how the Wood People hated him. But he knew nothing of Cloudberry, and could not help the gnomes at all. Still, it was all very pleasant to have this new companionship, and already the gnomes felt very much better and more refreshed. They decided to sleep the night in the drey and explore the wood next morning.

  The smoke they had seen ascending through the trees apparently came from the Giant’s Castle. It was not a very big castle, not nearly so big (so Squirrel said) as another castle on the other side of the wood. Squirrel had never been there and didn’t even know if a Giant lived there too, but he didn’t think so. As far as he knew, there was only one giant, Giant Grum, and he seemed quite enough to go on with.

  At last the gnomes could keep awake no longer, the sough of the wind in the pines was so soothing. It was such a lovely sound, almost like the long rollers which break gently on a beach in hot summer weather, delicious and sleep-making. And the scents of the pines contributed to making them drowsy.

  No wonder they were soon fast asleep, rocked in their lofty cradle in the pine tree top. It did not matter what fearful things prowled below in the moonlight, or what ghastly giants walked abroad with clubs that roared like thunder, and killed you half a mile off. Nothing could touch them in their cosy little house, and soon Crow Wood, Giant, Stoat, Bub’ms, Squirrel, Cloudberry, and the Oak Pool, were all forgotten.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Giant Grum

  he gnomes were early astir the following day. The sun was streaming into the drey, and dew sparkled on every twig and leaf. Squirrel was already up and out and nowhere to be seen. So the gnomes had to climb out of the drey by themselves and make the perilous descent to the ground, a task which took them some while. By the time they reached the foot of the tree and dropped lightly into the bracken they were black and dusty. Pines are easy enough to climb, but shockingly dirty trees, as many of you may have found out for yourselves.

  As there was so much cover in the wood they decided to spend a few days exploring it, and making friends with the other animals.

  ‘You know,’ said Baldmoney, as they walked among the bracken fronds, ‘I like Crow Wood. It isn’t nearly such a terrible place as a lot of people make out. If we can keep clear of Giant Grum we shall be all right.’

  ‘I quite like it too,’ said Sneezewort, in a cheerful voice, ‘especially on a lovely summer morning like this, but I wish the birds would sing.’

  They stood still and listened, but all they could hear was the voice of the Folly talking away in its steep bed below them.

  ‘I wonder what poor old Dodder is doing now,’ mused Baldmoney as they continued on their way; ‘fishing, I expect, or pottering about in his coracle. Perhaps he’s asleep. I wish he were with us!’

  ‘So do I,’ agreed Sneezewort heartily, ‘it would just make everything perfect. Still, we shall have some rare tales to tell him when we get home.’

  Their way now led them down a narrow grassy path hedged on either side with tall bracken. It had not yet reached its full stature for the tips were still curved over into little shepherds’ crooks. It made a fairy avenue of green on either side of the track, for the path they were following was only an animals’ ‘runway’. It wandered here and there, under brambles, round the stumps of trees, under fallen branches, in and out beneath dense blackthorn, and under the winding tendrils of wild honeysuckle. You or I could never have followed it. Deep green moss was everywhere, and on some of the big smooth boles of the beech trees, mossy coverlets stretched some way up the trunks.

  The gnomes swung along, taking deep breaths as they went, and both felt very happy and contented. Suddenly, on rounding a bend in the path, they came face to face with a most gorgeous bird, one of the most splendid creatures they had ever seen. He was almost as beautiful as the King of Fishers. His head was bottle green with a hundred glancing lights upon it, as though it were made of mail, and his breast was the colour of beaten copper. Instead of an ordinary tail he had a long pointed one, as long as his body, barred with cross marks of blue black. On either cheek were scarlet wattles and on his head two eared horns of green and blue feathers. And to complete the vision he had, on either leg, a sharp pointed spur.

  The gnomes stopped in amazement. They never imagined such a gorgeous creature existed. He surveyed them with an arrogant air as though they were beetles.

  They wished him ‘good morning’ very politely, but were only answered by a cold and disdainful stare. The pheasant (for it was he) looked them over from head to toe. It is never pleasant to be looked up and down in this way, but the gnomes were not abashed, though secretly each felt a tiny anger mounting within him.

  At last the pheasant spoke. ‘What, may I ask, are you two persons doing in my wood? Who gave you permission to come here? Don’t you know it’s private property?’

  ‘Private property?’ queried the gnomes. ‘Private property? There’s no such thing as private property in nature! The woods and fields belong to the earth, and so do we. We don’t know what you are talking about!’

  The pheasant strutted forward in an aggressive manner, waggling his wattles like an enraged turkey. ‘Now, I don’t want any impudence. This is Private Property and you’re trespassing, be off, both of you, and don’t let me catch you here again.’ And fluffing out his gorgeous feathers he crowed a long crow, Cock! cock! cock! cock! cock! so that the woodlands rang and the gnomes were deafened.

  ‘What a rude creature,’ said Baldmoney, in a quiet tone to Sneezewort.

  ‘How vain,’ said Sneezewort; ‘and he called us persons.’

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said the pheasant in a steely voice, looking over their heads.

  ‘Well, you vain insolent creature, you can wait! We’re not going out of this wood for you or anybody else!’ replied Baldmoney hotly.

  ‘Then you will he prosecuted,’ snapped the pheasant. ‘It says so on the notice boards all round the wood, and it’ll serve you right. Now, are you going, or are you not?’

  ‘Emphatically NOT,’ said the gnomes with some heat, ‘and we advise you to let us alone and not to interfere with us. We shall go where we please, and do what we please, for we’re older than you, and you’re nothing but a foreigner, in short, an utter outsider!’

  The pheasant, now he had had his say, and finding the gnomes were not in the least impressed by his appearance, or in awe of his grand manner, looked rather foolish and confused. ‘Well, you have been warned,’ he said, with his head in the air, as he stalked away with all the dignity he could muster. ‘Giant Grum shall hear of this; he’ll come and shoot you, and hang you up on the gibbet,
with the hawks and owls and weasels, where you belong. We won’t have vermin in this wood, and that’s what you are, VERMIN!’

  Gnomes are good-natured little people as a rule and rarely lose their tempers, but the last remark of the pheasant’s roused Baldmoney to white fury, which, however, he sensibly controlled.

  ‘You arrogant creature,’ he called after the retreating figure, ‘we shall meet again and you will remember that insult. Make the most of the sunlight and the green bracken. We shall meet again!’

  And so saying the gnomes turned their backs on the pheasant and made their way down between the trees towards the Folly. Its friendly chatter was comforting, quite like old times, though its character seemed very altered. It was noticeably smaller and shallower; here and there at bends and corners deep black pools opened out, unstarred by water-daisy or lily.

  ‘Baldmoney! Baldmoney! Look what I’ve found, quick!’ Sneezewort bent down and picked up something which was lying among a drift of old leaves close to the water’s edge. It was a rusty pocket-knife with two blades.

  ‘Don’t you recognize it?’ said Sneezewort excitedly; ‘it’s Cloudberry’s. Don’t you remember the knife he found in the Willow Meadow, and how proud he was of it?’

  Baldmoney took the knife and examined it closely. The blades were so rusted they would not open, but without a doubt it was Cloudberry’s knife. How long it had been lying there it was hard to say, but from its condition, many months.

  What a stroke of luck! It seemed at last they were really getting ‘hot’. One thing at any rate was certain, Cloudberry must have passed this way. Perhaps the knife had dropped out of his pocket when he jumped over a log near by. Apart from its associations, this find was a very real one to the gnomes; their flint knives were poor things compared to this real knife of steel.

  •

  ‘Cloudberry must have been in an awful hurry to drop his knife,’ observed Baldmoney that evening. They were back again in the squirrel’s tree-top house (the latter had obligingly extended his invitation to them to stay for as long as they were in the wood) and again he had helped them up the tree: in truth he was very glad of the gnomes’ company for he was the last squirrel left in Crow Wood, all his relations having been killed by Giant Grum long ago.