And now we give thanks to the day,

We joyfully sing like the birds on the wing,

For old winter is still far away.

The high sun of noontide smiles down on us all,

Sending warmth to the earth from on high,

Soon the autumn will yield, out in orchard and field,

Where the bounties of nature do lie.

Midsummer midsummer the solstice is now,

In the midst of this season so bright,

Yea we sing, aye we sing, hear our glad voices ring,

Far into this fine summer night.”

Dwopple and Blinny the molebabe dashed forward. Seizing Cregga’s huge paws, they tugged her toward the feasting tables.

“Heehee! We frykkened you, Badgermum, but then us singed nice for ya!”

“Bo urr, marm, do ee cumm now, we’m got gurt ’eaps o’ vittles furr ee, an’ you’m can stay up late with us’n’s!”

The blind badger allowed herself to be led to the festive table. Seating herself in the big Abbot’s chair, she took both Dibbuns on her lap, joking with the little creatures. “I must say, you did frighten me dreadfully, but that lovely song made me feel lots better. Thank you! Can we really stay up late tonight? Then I’ll behave meself an’ be extra good. Mmm, I smell blueberry an’ almond turnovers. Pass me the dish, please. I’m so hungry I think I’ll eat ’em all!”

Dwopple shook his spoon severely at the massive old badger. “Tch tch! Thort you said y’was gonna be’ave. Friar Butty send y’back up to bed if you naughty!”

Outside the night was still, the day’s heat still radiating from the sunwarmed stones of the walltop. A half-moon stood clear in endless plains of dark velvet sky. At the center of the south rampart, Bargle stood talking to the shrew Mayon, on reluctant guard duty.

“Wot d’yer think the chances are of Florian an’ his patrol comin’ up ’ere to relieve us, so’s we can get to the feast?”

Bargle shook his head at Mayon’s simple and trusting nature. “You got more chance o’ sproutin’ wings an’ flutterin’ away like a butterfly, matey! Imagine ole Florian an’ Skipper pushin’ woodland trifle down their faces, then sayin’ all of a sudden like, ‘Better ’urry up, we got to go an’ relieve the wallguards!’”

Mayon tried to imagine it, then sighed regretfully. “Yore right, mate, ’twouldn’t ’appen in ten seasons o’ plenty. Oh well, mebbe they’ll leave us some fer brekkist. I ’ope?”