annoyance. He leapt to his feet and stomped into the garden.
“Tricky little pests have to be here somewhere.”
David took a peek behind Henry’s trash can. There was nothing but wet leaves, wood lice, and a potato chip bag. “Didn’t you see which way they went?”
“Lost them while you were knocking,” Henry muttered. “Could be anywhere. Pesky vermin.”
“What’s wrong with them, Henry?” David said hotly. “Most people think squirrels are cute.”
Mr. Bacon’s eye began to twitch. “Tree rats dig up the garden, boy. Worse than moles for holes, they are. Thought I’d seen them go away for good.”
David’s eyebrows came together in a look of deep suspicion. “What do you mean, you’d ‘seen them go away’?”
“Oak,” hissed Henry, flipping a switch on the side of the mower. He gave the engine cord a tug. The engine spluttered, but failed to start. “Out in the Crescent. Massive monstrosity. Friends in high places. Soon finished it off. Industrial chain saw. Barely left a twig.”
David felt a tingle of coldness in his spine. “
You
cut the tree down?”
“Public service,” Mr. Bacon sniffed.
David reeled back, fizzing with anger. “You made Conker homeless,” he spluttered.
“Conker?” Mr. Bacon rattled. “What are you gibbering on about, boy?” He reached down to pull at the mower cord again. David plunked a foot on the engine and stopped him.
“Mr. Bacon,” he said, in a very low voice, “did
you
hurt Conker’s eye?”
“Are you drunk?” Mr. Bacon said, rather rudely. “Get your hoof off my mower before I call the cops.” He shoved David aside and gave the mower cord a tug. At last the engine exploded into life — and so did something else.
“Waah!” yelped Henry, as a slim gray shape leapt out of the grass catcher and catapulted through his legs.
“I’ll get it!” David cried and launched himself forward, only to stumble on the garden hose and stomp on Mr. Bacon’s toe as he fell.
“Ow!” shouted Henry, hopping around, giving the mower a nudge in the process.
There was an ominous click. The mower shuddered — then set off, unattended, down the lawn.
“Oh no!” gasped David. “It’s heading for the pond!”
But that was the least of his worries. The mower had barely rolled five meters when a second squirrel emerged from the grass catcher. It scrambled onto the engine housing, riding along like a little gray pirate. Even from a distance David could tell that the squirrel had one eye tightly closed.
Conker flagged his tail in distress. He hopped left, then right, then turned a full circle — too afraid or confused to leap to safety.
All the while the mower chugged on, and the water came closer and closer and closer.
“Stop that mower!” Mr. Bacon squawked.
David jumped to his feet. “I’ll never catch it in time.” But just as he was fearing a horrible accident, something very peculiar happened. Amazingly, the first squirrel ran out of hiding and hurtled toward the runaway machine. With a single bound it boarded the mower and knocked Conker straight off the engine housing. Conker tumbled onto the grass. Hepicked himself up and scurried out of sight. Meanwhile, the mower continued on course. It descended a lightly graveled slope, making an utterly awful racket as its blades churned up and spat out the stones. There was a
sploop
and a strange sort of bubbling sound. The mower lurched sideways and puttered to a stop. A wisp of smoke snaked up into the sky. Mr. Bacon made a sort of mewing sound.
To David’s relief, the rescuing squirrel popped up on a boulder at the edge of the pond.
Mr. Bacon threw a rubber boot at its head. It missed and hit a garden gnome.
“Henry, leave it be,” hissed David, pacing stealthily toward the squirrel. It twitched when it saw the nutbeast coming and hopped onto the back of a small stone badger.
David raised his hands in peace. “It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Whack it with a spade
“Tricky little pests have to be here somewhere.”
David took a peek behind Henry’s trash can. There was nothing but wet leaves, wood lice, and a potato chip bag. “Didn’t you see which way they went?”
“Lost them while you were knocking,” Henry muttered. “Could be anywhere. Pesky vermin.”
“What’s wrong with them, Henry?” David said hotly. “Most people think squirrels are cute.”
Mr. Bacon’s eye began to twitch. “Tree rats dig up the garden, boy. Worse than moles for holes, they are. Thought I’d seen them go away for good.”
David’s eyebrows came together in a look of deep suspicion. “What do you mean, you’d ‘seen them go away’?”
“Oak,” hissed Henry, flipping a switch on the side of the mower. He gave the engine cord a tug. The engine spluttered, but failed to start. “Out in the Crescent. Massive monstrosity. Friends in high places. Soon finished it off. Industrial chain saw. Barely left a twig.”
David felt a tingle of coldness in his spine. “
You
cut the tree down?”
“Public service,” Mr. Bacon sniffed.
David reeled back, fizzing with anger. “You made Conker homeless,” he spluttered.
“Conker?” Mr. Bacon rattled. “What are you gibbering on about, boy?” He reached down to pull at the mower cord again. David plunked a foot on the engine and stopped him.
“Mr. Bacon,” he said, in a very low voice, “did
you
hurt Conker’s eye?”
“Are you drunk?” Mr. Bacon said, rather rudely. “Get your hoof off my mower before I call the cops.” He shoved David aside and gave the mower cord a tug. At last the engine exploded into life — and so did something else.
“Waah!” yelped Henry, as a slim gray shape leapt out of the grass catcher and catapulted through his legs.
“I’ll get it!” David cried and launched himself forward, only to stumble on the garden hose and stomp on Mr. Bacon’s toe as he fell.
“Ow!” shouted Henry, hopping around, giving the mower a nudge in the process.
There was an ominous click. The mower shuddered — then set off, unattended, down the lawn.
“Oh no!” gasped David. “It’s heading for the pond!”
But that was the least of his worries. The mower had barely rolled five meters when a second squirrel emerged from the grass catcher. It scrambled onto the engine housing, riding along like a little gray pirate. Even from a distance David could tell that the squirrel had one eye tightly closed.
Conker flagged his tail in distress. He hopped left, then right, then turned a full circle — too afraid or confused to leap to safety.
All the while the mower chugged on, and the water came closer and closer and closer.
“Stop that mower!” Mr. Bacon squawked.
David jumped to his feet. “I’ll never catch it in time.” But just as he was fearing a horrible accident, something very peculiar happened. Amazingly, the first squirrel ran out of hiding and hurtled toward the runaway machine. With a single bound it boarded the mower and knocked Conker straight off the engine housing. Conker tumbled onto the grass. Hepicked himself up and scurried out of sight. Meanwhile, the mower continued on course. It descended a lightly graveled slope, making an utterly awful racket as its blades churned up and spat out the stones. There was a
sploop
and a strange sort of bubbling sound. The mower lurched sideways and puttered to a stop. A wisp of smoke snaked up into the sky. Mr. Bacon made a sort of mewing sound.
To David’s relief, the rescuing squirrel popped up on a boulder at the edge of the pond.
Mr. Bacon threw a rubber boot at its head. It missed and hit a garden gnome.
“Henry, leave it be,” hissed David, pacing stealthily toward the squirrel. It twitched when it saw the nutbeast coming and hopped onto the back of a small stone badger.
David raised his hands in peace. “It’s all right, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Whack it with a spade
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