by BB
As animals have practically no sense of humour nobody laughed or even noticed it, but Dodder and Sneezewort were secretly convulsed. The fire burnt low and the flames ceased to leap and jump. Instead there was a cosy red glow which turned all the animals and birds a rosy pink. As the night wore on the day birds became terribly sleepy. They tried hard to keep awake, but one by one they tucked in their heads and puffed themselves into woolly balls.
Of course the owls and nightjars were in high spirits and kept everyone enthralled by their tales of banshees and bogeys. White Owl told an eerie story about a churchyard until he had all the animals peeping over their shoulders at the strange dark shadows among the trees, for some could not believe that Giant Grum was now really powerless to harm them.
The baby Bub’ms (who should have been left at home tucked up in bed) had a high old time, scampering about between people’s legs, and pulling Fernbear’s whiskers. That sly gentleman looked very foolish and uncomfortable, as well he might.
Squirrel excelled himself. He told them stories of American wild life and the vast pine woods of the North; even the bouncing Bub’m babies had to listen.
At last when he had finished, Sneezewort touched Dodder’s sleeve. ‘Now we have all the Wood Folk here, why not tell them of our quest?’ he whispered; ‘they might give us some news of Cloudberry.’
Dodder nodded. He put on his bone leg and stood up. Everyone was respectfully silent. He told them of their journey up the Folly, of how they came to be in Crow Wood at all, and how he had killed the giant. And then he asked them for news of Cloudberry.
‘This is the object of our journey,’ he said. ‘Midsummer is past, the year is drawing on. It will not be long before the trees are yellowing and their life draining down deep within the earth, where all life sleeps. We must find Cloudberry before the winter comes, for then we shall have to return to the Oak Pool and you will not see us again. If any have news of him, or have seen him, speak.’ And he sat down.
Then the White Owl spoke from the oak above.
‘I remember him, gnomes—I remember your lost brother. He was dressed like you in skins and came up the Folly two years ago looking for the source. He stayed two days in Crow Wood and then he went on towards the big lake. I never saw him after he left the wood. Whether or not he found the source I cannot say.’
‘How far is it to the Folly Source?’ asked Dodder.
‘I cannot tell you,’ the White Owl answered. ‘I have never been, nor have any of the Wood People, but it is a long way. You will never reach it by walking.’
‘We must get the boat,’ said Baldmoney eagerly; ‘we must go on by boat!’
‘There are no falls beyond the wood,’ said the owl; ‘at least, I do not think so. But the Folly gets very narrow and the water shallow.’
‘Never mind,’ said Baldmoney, ‘the Dragonfly will get along all right. With three of us we can travel at a fine pace. Let us start tomorrow!’
Dodder rose to his feet again. ‘Well, People of the Wood, we must say goodbye. We start tomorrow to go on up the Folly. Perhaps you will see us on our way down, when the leaves are turning. If I have been able to do some service for you I am glad, but it is our great god Pan who must have your gratitude and thanks.’
The fire was now a welter of white ash and glowing sparks, a tiny chill wind blew them hither and thither, the blue-black gloom of the wood was all around. And then it seemed that the night wind in the tree tops began to sing a lullaby. The dark pines moved gently, their tasselled branches swinging and swaying, the oak leaves rustled together, forming music and words, music and words, dreamy, haunting and unbelievably lovely. And this is what they seemed to sing:
So one by one the tired animals dropped asleep where they sat; the rabbits nodded, the birds rolled themselves into tighter balls, the mice cuddled into Fernbear’s long hair for warmth. Only the owl remained awake, looking down at the ring of sleeping wild things below him. And there he kept watch, smiling a little, perhaps, to see this trusting pathetic little band at the foot of the tree. He stood very upright, looking like a white goblin, as he turned his huge eyes this way and that.
Dodder lay on his back, an infant hedgepig under each arm, Sneezewort’s pockets were full of shrews, and three baby dormice had made a warm nest under Baldmoney’s beard. They slept until cock-crow, and when at last dawn broke there was nothing to show of the high revelry and feasting but the cold grey ashes blowing on the banks of the Folly.
•
Bright and early next morning the gnomes went down to the wire with Squirrel. They found the Dragonfly still safely tucked up under the fern, and Baldmoney and Sneezewort went over her carefully and examined the broken paddle. They found that the rowlock had broken under the strain, and the wire of the paddle was badly bent. Still, it could be repaired, and Baldmoney had another idea.
‘How would it be to make a mast and a sail? We might get a favourable breeze upstream and it would help us along a lot.’
‘That’s an idea,’ said Sneezewort excitedly; ‘I wonder we didn’t think of that before.’
So they looked about for a suitable mast. Squirrel soon found one—a stout pine twig. They bored a hole in the decking with Cloudberry’s knife and wedged it firmly in, damping it with water to make the wood swell. Then they searched for a sail. ‘What could be better than a dock leaf ?’ suggested Sneezewort.
‘No, something stronger . . . I have it!’ exclaimed Dodder, who was now as proud of the boat as if he had made it himself; ‘we can use one of our sleeping-bags.’
‘The very thing,’ said Baldmoney, ‘the very thing!’ They lashed a cross-piece to the mast and, making two small holes in either end of the moleskin, threaded the stick through, tying it firmly to the top of the mast with twisted grass rope. The only thing that worried Baldmoney was the fact that it would be difficult to furl the sail in an emergency, but Sneezewort pointed out that the cross-piece could be untied.
With the help of Squirrel they carried the boat up the bank, for they could never have got her up the rush of the falls. It was hard work and they had to stop frequently to get their breath, but at last they reached the head of the swift water and paddled the boat up under the nut bushes, to the Wood Pool. There was a faint westerly breeze aft and the sail was rigged up. To their delight they found that the boat moved well, right up the centre of the pool. This was a very different business to sweating at the paddle handles, now they only had to paddle occasionally to steer her. They had a trial run right up the pool, tying up to an overhanging nut bush at the far end.
‘Splendid!’ crowed Baldmoney, rubbing his hands; ‘I never knew sailing could be so delightful.’ In a very short time all was made ready and it was time to say ‘goodbye’.
‘I wish I was coming with you,’ said Squirrel rather wistfully; ‘but if I got aboard I’d sink the boat. If only I were smaller!’
‘Never mind, Squirrel, you’ve been a great help to us, and we owe you a lot. Without you I don’t know what we’d have done, letting us sleep in Tree Top House and everything. We’ll soon be back, Squirrel, and I hope Cloudberry will be with us. And you must come and stay with us at the oak tree pool.’
‘Mind you find yourself a wife,’ shouted Dodder as he climbed aboard; ‘there’s no excuse, Squirrel, now the giant has gone! Remember us to the Bub’ms, woodpigs, and all the animals! Goodbye! Goodbye!’
Squirrel gave them a push off and the Dragonfly slowly turned her bow towards the open water of the Wood Pool.
Looking back, they could see the grey form of Squirrel sitting on the bank, now and again shaking his tail at them, getting smaller and smaller. At first they could see his face clearly, his pointed ears and bright eyes, but soon these melted and dwindled until he was a mere grey blob, appearing rather pathetic, against the background of trees.
The breeze freshened, and while Dodder looked after the sail and paddles (which had been mended by Baldmoney) the others busied themselves with putting the deck into some semblance
of order. The steering of the boat was soon mastered, though at first Dodder had to keep on shouting ‘left a bit’, ‘right a bit’, ‘hard left’, and so forth.
It was surprising how well the Dragonfly sped through the water. Soon they were right out in the middle of the pool. The water chuckled under her with each puff of wind and the bow dipped downwards in quite a professional manner; considering she had not been built for a sailing-boat she went extraordinarily well.
Dodder, sitting back in the boat puffing at his pipe, revelled in it.
‘Why we never built a sailing-boat before I can’t think,’ he said. (Their frogskin fishing-boats were nothing compared to the Dragonfly.) ‘This sailing business is the most wonderful thing in the world! Hard left!’ he shouted as the Dragonfly yawed dangerously round.
‘All right, all right,’ said Baldmoney testily; ‘I know what I’m doing.’ (As a matter of fact he didn’t; he was not nearly such a good helmsman as Dodder.) ‘Tell Sneezewort to get on with tidying up the deck!’
The latter packed their belongings neatly together, the sleeping-bags in one corner and stores in another, fishing-lines coiled round the mast. Soon all was shipshape and they settled down to enjoy themselves.
The Wood Pool was nearly half a mile long, a beautiful sheet of water, hedged round with trees. Water-hens scuttled away, showing a silver comb of spray from their dangling legs, and a blue dragonfly settled on the mast. After a little while the breeze softened and the boat ceased to forge ahead, and when they turned a corner of the pool and the screening trees took their wind, they were becalmed.
Sneezewort and Baldmoney took the paddles, and Dodder the helm, and the Dragonfly went steadily on towards the head of the pool, chunk, chunk went the paddles, and the gleaming ripples parted before her bow.
‘Easy does it,’ shouted Dodder, peering under the sail; ‘we’re coming into the narrows.’
The banks crept nearer, trees hung over, trailing their branches in the water, and soon they were in the Folly again. It flowed slowly, for the Wood Pool dammed it up so that paddling was easy. Dodder trailed his fingers in the water, the coldness of it was delightful.
‘I’m glad I came,’ he said dreamily; ‘you fellows could never have got on without me.’
‘Yes,’ said Baldmoney; ‘do you remember how angry you were when we said we were coming up the Folly? We never thought you would come.’
‘If it hadn’t been for me, we shouldn’t be sailing up the Wood Pool,’ said Dodder with some truth; ‘with Giant Grum about we shouldn’t have dared to show our noses.’
The Folly now seemed to pass under a long tunnel of trees; it might have been a stretch of African river. The water was deep and black and almost without movement. Here and there bleached and rotten sticks like crocodiles protruded from the surface and they had to guide the Dragonfly with care. Tall branching ferns came right down to the water’s edge, bending gracefully over their reflections. They were more delicate and finely cut than the bracken fronds, and they heightened the effect of a tropical river.
It needed little effort to propel the boat, for the current of the Folly was still lost in the dammed-up stream. Dodder lay on his back gazing up at the ceiling of green, watching the caterpillars swinging on invisible threads from the thick foliage. Then the stream took a sharp right-handed turn and at the far end of the tunnel they saw an ornamental stone bridge.
‘I don’t like the look of that,’ exclaimed Baldmoney, ceasing to paddle and shading his eyes with his hands; ‘it smells of giants to me.’
The bridge must have been very old for the stone was weathered and covered with moss and one or two of its balustrades were missing. They paddled on with caution, only turning the paddles now and then. The boat glided along very slowly. All around willow warblers were singing; their song was like a musical waterfall, very small and sweet. A chiff-chaff (which is very like a willow warbler in appearance) kept up a continual monotonous song ‘chiff chaff ! chiff chaff ! chiff chaff ! chiff chaff ! zeet, zeet, zeet, zeet!’ as it hopped about among the dense foliage.
The bridge drew nearer. They saw a stone shield over the central arch with an incised monogram SC and 1732 below it in quaint figures. Water voles, unused to the boat, dived from their galleries in the peaty soil of the bank and would not stop to talk. They were like savage tribes fleeing at the sight of a white man.
‘Silly things!’ said Dodder. ‘Why won’t they stop and make friends?’
‘It’s the boat, I expect,’ whispered Baldmoney; ‘they don’t know what it is.’
At last they drifted under the stone arch, and Baldmoney brought the Dragonfly scraping gently against the stonework. Ivy creeper was draped in long festoons on the far side of the arch and a wagtail’s nest was built among the hairy cables of the main ivy stem. It was full of fledglings which stared over the rim with round and frightened eyes.
The mayflies were hatching; over the grass thousands of them could be seen dancing up and down; some, locked together, fell down among the meadow flowers. Others dropped into the water and were borne away, gyrating feebly, to be sucked down by waiting fish. Now and again all the insects ceased to dance and not one was to be seen. Perhaps they were resting. But in a few moments they would be a-dance again all along the banks of the stream.
‘We will tie up here for a bit,’ whispered Baldmoney; ‘I don’t like the look of this place. Mrs Wagtail may be able to give us some news.’ The gnomes tried to talk to the fledgling wagtails, but they were either too frightened or too shy to reply. They cowered down in the nest, and one was so nervous it let fall a tiny white spot into the water.
‘Leave them alone,’ said Dodder; ‘they are scared of us; wait until their mother comes back.’
All was in shadow under the arch of the bridge and they were well hidden. They watched the wavering light bars ripple along the stonework and the silver water-beetles skating and weaving. All around them the birds sang and the chiff-chaff kept up its monotonous refrain.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Storm
he ripples, lapping under the bridge, were like olive-green fish scales. They ran along the old stonework, making it glisten. For many years they had washed the stone until it was a darker colour and green with moss. Here and there, protruding from crevices in the wall were green hart’s-tongue ferns, and a snail was crawling on one of them with a black and yellow banded shell upon its back.
Upstream the sky seemed lighter, for the trees were not so numerous, though close to the bridge was a large horse-chestnut; its handsome splayed leaves, spread like fingers, hung over the water. The rotting candles had long since been stripped of flowers and were withering; earlier the tree had been a mass of glorious bloom. In October this would be a wonderful place to hunt for ‘conkers’ . . . those gloriously polished mahogany balls, like precious stones in their leathery white pulp settings!
The gnomes used conker skins for pipe bowls and cabinet-work; Baldmoney had made Dodder a wonderful smoking cabinet for his pipes with them. It stood in the corner of the oak root at home and was greatly admired. But it was many weeks yet to ‘conker time’, and much might happen in the meanwhile; they might never see that lovely conker cabinet again, or the Oak Pool!
‘Chissick, chissick!’ A pied wagtail came dipping up the stream close above the water. She flew with undulating switchback flight, up and down, up and down, her bill wedged wide with a bundle of juicy mayflies.
In the nest the babies heard the gladsome sound and a forest of unsteady wagging heads upraised, five red trumpets opened. She fed them carefully, dividing the flies as she did so. Every year she had built under the bridge.
The sound of the mother-bird’s arrival awakened Dodder. He could not at first remember where he was as he had been in the middle of some fantastic dream of giants and gibbets, boats and fish. He rubbed his eyes and for a second or two lay staring at the stonework, collecting his thoughts.
Yes, of course, now he remembered everything, the start from the
Wood Pool, the bridge and the wagtail’s nest! He raised himself on his elbows. Baldmoney was curled up on the sleeping-bags in the stern, making funny whistling noises through his beard.
‘Chissick, chissick!’ Dodder stood up unsteadily, for his one good leg had gone to sleep.
‘Mrs Wagtail! Hi! Mrs Wagtail!’
The mother wagtail was sitting on the edge of the nest with her black-and-white back turned towards the boat; she had not noticed the Dragonfly and her crew.
‘Goodness! How you made me jump!’ she said, hopping an inch or two into the air and half preparing to fly away. ‘Why! it’s the gnomes!’ She recognized them, for with the other Crow Wood people, she had attended the meeting in the gibbet clearing.
‘Whatever are you doing up here?’ she asked when she had recovered her composure.
‘We are on our way upstream to find our lost brother. Can you tell us what lies ahead; is the water rough, and are there any falls?’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘as far as I know there are not any waterfalls. It is still water for a long way, right past the gardens. Then you will come to the big lake.’
‘Big lake?’ asked Dodder. ‘Gardens? What do you mean?’
‘Oh! don’t you know? This is Clobber Park. It’s a beautiful place and there’s a heronry on Poplar Island in front of the house—at least there used to be,’ she added, ‘but Lord Clobber talks of having the nests pulled down because the herons take his trout. You will have to be careful on the lake, you know,’ she added, ‘with that little boat of yours. Sometimes the waves are very big.’
