“A true trade, though you do strike a turrible hard bargain, yiss yiss. That’s a Riverhead Volechief’s boat y’ve got there. Light as a feather, true as an arrow, an’ faster than a brown trout, there’s not a craft on any water that can keep up wid it, let alone try t’beat it. ’Tis sorry I am to part with yonder vessel!”

Dann whacked him heartily on the back. “But now you own the Leafwood, sir, the power is all yours!”

The vole did a little jig of delight. “Yiss yiss, so I do. Every good trade calls for a Comallyeh. So here goes.” He raised his head and called in a loud piercing yell, “Comallyeeeeeeeh!”

Startled, the three companions jumped back, as watervoles materialized from seemingly everywhere, all crying aloud, “Comallyeeeeeeh!”

Dippler took their haversacks and tossed them into the boat. “Looks like we’re invited to some kind o’ celebration, pals!”

Later, the big cave on the bank was packed tight with watervoles, nearly every one of them holding either a little fiddle or a small pawdrum. Song and her friends sat by the fire spooning down thick delicious riverstew comprising cress, watershrimp, turnip, carrot, mushrooms and several other vegetables and herbs that they could not identify. Voles made sure that their beakers of honey and blackberry cordial were never empty. Soon every paw in the place was tapping to a lively jig, well played and heartily sung by the Riverhead tribe.

“Oh there’s some fools take a bath each day,

By rollin’ in the mornin’ dew,

An’ others who won’t wash at all,

But that ain’t me nor you.

Othersome take dry dust baths,

An’ reckon that they’re clean,

But if a watervole you be,

Well you know wot I mean.

Hoho, yiss yiss, ho hooooooo!

Don’t sit’n’shiver beside the river,

Dive right in with a splosh,

Grab hold of a good ole soapwort root,

An’ give yoreself a wash.

Scrub hard scrub soft scrub lively, mate,

Good health you’ll never lack,

An’ if yore paws can’t reach around,

A fish’ll scrub yore back.

Hoho, yiss yiss, ho hoooooo!”

The ditty finished amid great merriment, with the old watervole acting as master of ceremonies, pointing the Leafwood at the three. “C’mon now, travelers, sing for yore supper!”

Dann flushed with embarrassment. “Singin’ isn’t a thing I do best. You have a go, Song.”

Dippler helped himself to another bowl of stew. “Aye, yore a good singer, missie. If they ’ear my voice that ole feller’s liable to cancel the bargain.”

Song stood up and called out to the musicians, “D’you know the one called ’Green Rushes an’ Lilies so Pale’?”

Several of the old volewives threw their rush aprons up over their faces, calling out warnings to the pretty young squirrel.

“Ah sure, don’t try it, missie, ’tis too fast!”