Undergardeners by Desmond Ellis Page B

who attacked me is that it picked up some bad habits from humans.”
    â€œMrs. Rochester wouldn’t have harmed you,” said Mouse. “At least, I don’t think so. I think she was just being curious.”
    â€œI’ll bet she was curious.” The little man jammed his toque back on his head. “Curious as to what I tasted like. And if slashing at me with those razor-sharp hooks isn’t an attack, I don’t know what is. But I forget my manners. Thank you very much for saving my life. My name is Qwolsh. Sole!”
    The little man fell backward, only it wasn’t so much a fall as a leap onto his hands, which he’d stretched out behind him. He kicked his feet in Mouse’s direction, first one and then the other, before springing upright again. Mouse watched openmouthed. It was like watching a very energetic Russian folk dance. He could sense the other lantern bearers coming closer, but couldn’t take his eyes off the little man called Qwolsh, who was standing again, hands on hips, gazing up at him. Mouse continued to stare. “Wh…wh…wh…what did you just do?” He managed to get the words out at last, his voice rising at the end of the sentence in astonishment.
    â€œI thanked you for saving my life,” replied Qwolsh. “And now we must be off. Just forget you ever saw us. Which won’t be difficult because you’ll never see us again. Farewell.” Qwolsh saluted and he and the others began to move away, but Mouse took a step after them. This was his dream, after all, and he was going to keep control of it.
    â€œWait, wait,” he said. “Why did you wave your feet in the air like that?”
    Qwolsh stopped and said, “I soled you. Only being polite. Good manners after all.”
    This time Mouse made sure that his voice stayed steady. “Good manners?” he said, bending down for a better look. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œThe understanding of manners he doesn’t have, at any rate. That, for you, is humans.” The odd sentences were spoken in a low snuffly voice and sounded so close that a startled Mouse straightened up, stepped back, tripped over a small lantern and fell flat on his back. Close to his feet a voice said, “Ouch!”
    Sounding as if its owner had a very bad head cold, the snuffly voice went on. “There you go, you yourself did it, though very clumsy you are.”
    â€œWhat did I do?” spluttered Mouse.
    â€œShowed me your sole, you did. Now we’ve soled, you and I,” said Qwolsh.
    â€œSold you what? I mean, showed you what?” Mouse felt this conversation was getting away from him, and he wasn’t used to that; he was good at talking and rarely lost a debate at school. He got up and stood with Qwolsh in the glow of the circle of small lanterns.
    â€œThe soles of your feet,” snuffled the head cold. “We show each other the soles of our feet in greeting. That’s sole-ing.”
    â€œBut that’s silly,” said Mouse.
    â€œThere is nothing silly about it,” said Qwolsh.
    â€œMost certainly not.” A chorus of agreement went up from the circle of lanterns, and for the first time Mouse took a good look around him—and felt a moment’s misgiving. His headlong rush out into the dark garden was uncharacteristic; he was more inclined to think things through very carefully before acting. And now he found himself in the middle of a strange group made up of several tiny people and numerous small animals. There was a mole with a pair of glasses perched on the end of its snout. A groundhog was holding a lantern between its jaws. Two mice held a miniature picnic basket between them. All of them stared at him with such an unafraid and curious intensity that Mouse felt a little uneasy.
    He swallowed and continued. “Well, it’s silly because…because…because you use all that energy just greeting each other,