spreaded wi' 'unny too!"
"Hoi! Can I have one too?" Pallum called out cheekily into the darkness.
No sooner had he spoken than a scone thudded on the ground by him. The hedgehog chuckled with delight, not questioning where the food came from. Pallum was a simple soul, practical too.
"Go on, Martin. Have a go. Ask for one!"
The young mouse was standing alert and upright, Amballa's small sword in his paw. He peered into the darkness murmuring, "Yes, I'd like a scone with honey. Wouldn't mind something to drink too.
Strawberry cordial would be nice."
The scone struck his footpaw. He did not see which direction it came from. As he bent to get it a voice called out of the woods, "You'm can 'ave the scone, moi dears, but oi bain't throwen moi gudd beakers abowt an' spil len drinks 'ither 'n' yon. Hoo arr no!"
Grumm leaped up waving his ladle, which he had retrieved from the pigmy shrews. "Oi'd be knowen that speak. 'Tis a moler loik oi!"
A mole came plodding out of the darkness. She was dressed in an oversized mob cap and a huge flowery pinafore.
"Hurr, oi bain't nawthen loik you'm, maister. Oi be just loik oi, Polleekin."
She sat on the grass beside them, wiping her paws on the flowered apron and conversing as if they had always been there.
"Moi 'eart, 'twas an 'ot summer day t' day, et surely wurr. Oi was gatheren oop 'ee scones after coolen 'em off in 'ee shade, when oi yurrs sumbeast a longen furr scones, so oi throwed him'n summ."
Rose laughed her merry tinkling laugh. "Oh you're so kind, Polleekin. Thank you!"
The mole stood up, dusting herself off busily. "Oi aspeck yore well
'ungered an' thursty too. Young uns allus are, partickly travellers.
Coom on then, 'ome wi' oi."
They introduced themselves and told Polleekin their story as she led them to her dwelling in the wood.
Grumm looked up at it, hardly able to believe his eyes. "Moi seasons! A moler liven oop inna tree. Hurr!"
Polleekin did actually live up in a tree. It was an old dead oak that had fallen at a crazy angle against a tall rocky outcrop. The trunk was practically a stairway. They followed her up to a large comfortable room built between three thick boughs. It was floored with driftwood and cordage and roofed with the same material, tightly chinked with moss, earth and leaf packing to keep out wind and weather. The walls were formed by the foliage of the surrounding trees, skillfully woven together. They sat on a low mossy branch broad enough to be a bed, listening to Polleekin chatter as she prepared their supper.
"Hurr, oi be all alone in 'ee wurld naow. Fam'ly growed, troibe gone, so oi do as oi loiks wid moiself, liven in 'ee tree, fearen nobeast an' given welcumm to most, hurr aye."
The supper when it came was little less than spectacular.
Strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock beer and hot mint tea.
From a small stone charcoal fed oven the homely mole produced a stew of carrot, turnip, peas and leeks, a large cottage loaf and a button mushroom turnover garnished with parsley. From her larder came a dark heavy fruitcake with maplecream topping and an assortment of wildberry tartlets. She bustled about, laying them on the floor.
"Get thoi jaws round that liddle lot. Oi allus keeps vittles in plenty yurr, you'd be apprised at 'ee visitors oi gets, moi dears."
Conversation and talk went out of the leaf screened windows as they applied themselves to the business of serious eating. Polleekin watched them, rocking back and forth on a springy bough and tapping her old digging claws together. Only when they had slowed down to the picking stage did she venture to speak.
"They creeturs you'm be a looken for bain't passed thisaways."
Rose sighed as she poured herself some of the fragrant mint tea. "I hope they're safe and well, Polleekin."
The mole closed her eyes, nodding slowly. "Ho, they'm safe enuff an' awroight furr 'ee moment, mizzy, never fret."
Pallum stared at her curiously. "How do you know?"
Still nodding and smiling, with closed eyes the mole spoke. "Oi knows lots o' things but oi doant know why oi knows 'em. Places, faces, 'appenings an' all manner o' things runs in an' out o' moi ole
'ead, loik beefolks in an' out o' ee hoives."
Martin stared fixedly at the wise old mole, his food forgotten. "Yes, I had a feeling when we first met that you were not ordinary."
Polleekin shrugged, opening one eye to look at Martin. "Oi carn't
'elp it, maister. You'm be a wurrier beast loiken thoi daddy afore you'm. That liddle knoife bain't 'is sword. You'm got a longways t' go afore yon sword cooms back to 'ee. Doant maken you'm less'n a wurrier, tho'. Oi seen gurt brave wurriers in moi long seasons, but none like you'm, Marthen."
The mole went into a doze then. She talked no more. When they were finished eating they lay back on the broad comfortable bough and were soon asleep. Moonlight filtered through the leaves on to the faces of the four friends as they slumbered. Polleekin moved silently, touching each of their faces tenderly. She shook her head and wiped her eyes on the flowery apron.
"Pore young uns, so much 'arpiness an' sadness afore 'ee, iffen on'y you'm knowed. Oi be glad moi seasons are near run an' oi doant 'ave to carry otherbeasts' loives around in moi ole 'ead for long naow."
Martin opened his eyes to the song of small birds with dawn sun filtering green and gold through the leafy walls of the tree house.
Rising silently, he climbed down to the woodland floor. There was a cool spring rising out of the rocks, bubbling its way into a small pool.
The young mouse swilled his face and paws, shaking away the droplets and drying off with a pawful of grass. Polleekin bustled past with a small rush basket.
"Mawnin', zurr Marthen. Lookee, liddle mushyrooms, celery, lettuce an' early 'azel nutters, green uns, some dandelion an' crabapples."
Pallum appeared, looking into the basket and nodding hungrily.
"Mmm, they look lovely and fresh."
The old molewife slapped his paw away as he reached for a young button mushroom. "Gurr, you'm young roguer. 'Old still till oi make thoi breffist."
Grumm and Rose took a hurried wash at the spring. Shaking themselves dry, they scrambled swiftly back up to the tree house for breakfast. Polleekin could work wonders with vegetables, and she did.
They feasted on mushroom and celery soup garnished with young dandelion petals, followed by the scones she had baked the day before, now well soaked through with honey. Rose poured crabapple cider for them as the old mole began outlining her luncheon menu.
"Oi'll bake a gurt cake wi' woild plum 'n' damson from moi last autumn larder. Hurr, an' meadowcream aplenty to go wid et."
"Rurr, oi'm drefful sorry, marm but us'ns be gone afore long."
Grumm's voice was heavy with regret.
Polleekin wiped hefty digging claws on her apron. "Aye, so you'm shall, tho' oi dearly wisht 'ee would stay yurr wid oi awhoil, p'raps two day or more."
Rose sat next to the old molewife, patting her back. "I wish we could stay for ever, Polleekin, but we must get to searching for my brother Brome and our friend Felldoh. That is, if they still live."
Polleekin sighed. "Oi told you'm larst noight, mizzy. They two be aloive an' well. Doant ask me 'ow oi knows, 'cos oi cuddent tell 'ee, but take moi word, oi knows it fer sure. You'm three creeturs be best travellen straight fer Noonvale. Stay 'way from 'ee vurmin fort. Bad fortune awaits 'ee thurr iffen you'm return."
Martin leaned forward. "What sort of bad fortune, Polleekin?"
The old one closed her eyes, rocking back and forth. "Nay, zurr Marthen, 'tis not for oi t' say, lessen oi be a tellen lies an' moi ole mem'ry be playen tricks loike it do sometimes."
The friends did not pursue the question further, though Rose had a request to make of PoLleekin.
"You told us to travel to Noonvale. I for one think it a good idea.
But I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea where it is from here. We're completely lost. Can you help us?"
The mole opened her eyes. Moving slowly about, she began rummaging through her larders and stores.