stay away. You better!” barked Sadie.
Missus came running up to the fence, still holding the bucket of chicken feed. She looked at Sadie. “What’s wrong, girl? What is it?” She bent down and took the cloth off the baby’s basket. “Hello, Baby, don’t cry, it’s just Sadie barking and that’s what dogs do. Everything’s all right.”
“I saved the baby!”
“Quiet, Sadie, there’s nothing. Baby doesn’t like all that barking.”
“Fox was going to—”
“Quiet, Sadie,” said Missus firmly.
Sadie stopped barking. She lay down again, beside the basket, and rested her head on her paws, looking up at Missus.
“Good dog. I won’t be much longer,” said Missus, and she walked away.
Sadie had started sniffing. She lifted her head. “Fredle?”
“I bit you,” said Fredle. “I’m sorry if it hurt, but that cat—”
“I saved the baby!”
“I saw.”
“That was Fox and he’s a bad one.”
“I could tell.”
“Don’t bite me again,” Sadie said.
“I needed to wake you up.”
“Friends don’t bite,” Sadie told him. “Angus never bites me, not even when we’re wrestling and quarreling. And I don’t bite him, or any other friend.”
“All right,” said Fredle. “I understand, it’s a rule.”
“I’d bite that Fox,” Sadie said, growling at the memory. “I’m glad you woke me up, but I’d never bite Patches. Patches is my friend.”
Fredle went back to the protection of the post and waited there until Missus had come to pick up the baby and gone off, back to the house, with Sadie at her heels. Then he returned to his nest, to curl up for a short sleep. He wanted to be well rested when he went out looking for a way into the house, on the fourth and final side, where nobody had ever searched before, at least as far as he knew.
10
The Way In
It was night when Fredle found a way back into the house. Just as he had suspected, and hoped, one of the wooden window frames on the fourth side of the house had pulled away from the mortar, leaving a crack large enough for a mouse. He pushed his nose into the opening and sniffed the air.
Only a mouse could squeeze through that narrow opening, Fredle knew; or ants and spiders, which didn’t worry him; or a snake, he guessed, if snakes ever wanted to go inside. But he’d never heard anything about any snake living down in the cellar. He was just scaring himself. He smelled the familiar odor of damp ground and other things, too, soap smells and wood smells and human smells, also an unpleasant heavy odor. He lifted his nose. Was there just a hint of food? What food could there be in a cellar?
He stuck his head in, to look and listen. All he could see was darkness, although in the distance there was a faint gray window shape, almost light. What he heard was the kind of silence that comes when many small noises mix together, none of them human, none of them clumsy and loud and doggy. Here inside no wind whistled. The air lay still.
Fredle shoved until his shoulders and front legs were inside. The ground below felt close, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the dense darkness, he thought he could see, just below him, a more solid blackness, which was earth, not air. He reached a paw down—careful not to lose his balance. If he was wrong about how close the ground was, and if he fell, tumbling through empty air until he hit hard bottom, he could hurt himself so badly that he would just lie there, unable to move, until he was went. However, reaching down, he felt the familiar soft, cool touch of dirt, so he wriggled through until he stood on all four paws in darkness.
Far ahead lay that dimness, the kind of dim light he remembered from his home behind the pantry wall, not really light at all, just not darkness. Turning to look behind him, he saw through the glass of the window to the clear night air outside, where there were no walls to lock the darkness in, where spaces stretched endlessly and, in not very long, one of the moons
Missus came running up to the fence, still holding the bucket of chicken feed. She looked at Sadie. “What’s wrong, girl? What is it?” She bent down and took the cloth off the baby’s basket. “Hello, Baby, don’t cry, it’s just Sadie barking and that’s what dogs do. Everything’s all right.”
“I saved the baby!”
“Quiet, Sadie, there’s nothing. Baby doesn’t like all that barking.”
“Fox was going to—”
“Quiet, Sadie,” said Missus firmly.
Sadie stopped barking. She lay down again, beside the basket, and rested her head on her paws, looking up at Missus.
“Good dog. I won’t be much longer,” said Missus, and she walked away.
Sadie had started sniffing. She lifted her head. “Fredle?”
“I bit you,” said Fredle. “I’m sorry if it hurt, but that cat—”
“I saved the baby!”
“I saw.”
“That was Fox and he’s a bad one.”
“I could tell.”
“Don’t bite me again,” Sadie said.
“I needed to wake you up.”
“Friends don’t bite,” Sadie told him. “Angus never bites me, not even when we’re wrestling and quarreling. And I don’t bite him, or any other friend.”
“All right,” said Fredle. “I understand, it’s a rule.”
“I’d bite that Fox,” Sadie said, growling at the memory. “I’m glad you woke me up, but I’d never bite Patches. Patches is my friend.”
Fredle went back to the protection of the post and waited there until Missus had come to pick up the baby and gone off, back to the house, with Sadie at her heels. Then he returned to his nest, to curl up for a short sleep. He wanted to be well rested when he went out looking for a way into the house, on the fourth and final side, where nobody had ever searched before, at least as far as he knew.
10
The Way In
It was night when Fredle found a way back into the house. Just as he had suspected, and hoped, one of the wooden window frames on the fourth side of the house had pulled away from the mortar, leaving a crack large enough for a mouse. He pushed his nose into the opening and sniffed the air.
Only a mouse could squeeze through that narrow opening, Fredle knew; or ants and spiders, which didn’t worry him; or a snake, he guessed, if snakes ever wanted to go inside. But he’d never heard anything about any snake living down in the cellar. He was just scaring himself. He smelled the familiar odor of damp ground and other things, too, soap smells and wood smells and human smells, also an unpleasant heavy odor. He lifted his nose. Was there just a hint of food? What food could there be in a cellar?
He stuck his head in, to look and listen. All he could see was darkness, although in the distance there was a faint gray window shape, almost light. What he heard was the kind of silence that comes when many small noises mix together, none of them human, none of them clumsy and loud and doggy. Here inside no wind whistled. The air lay still.
Fredle shoved until his shoulders and front legs were inside. The ground below felt close, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the dense darkness, he thought he could see, just below him, a more solid blackness, which was earth, not air. He reached a paw down—careful not to lose his balance. If he was wrong about how close the ground was, and if he fell, tumbling through empty air until he hit hard bottom, he could hurt himself so badly that he would just lie there, unable to move, until he was went. However, reaching down, he felt the familiar soft, cool touch of dirt, so he wriggled through until he stood on all four paws in darkness.
Far ahead lay that dimness, the kind of dim light he remembered from his home behind the pantry wall, not really light at all, just not darkness. Turning to look behind him, he saw through the glass of the window to the clear night air outside, where there were no walls to lock the darkness in, where spaces stretched endlessly and, in not very long, one of the moons
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