Gubbio Foremole and Sister Sloey had their paws full, trying to control the greedy Abbeybabes, the Dibbuns, from ravaging the baskets of fruit that were piled up everywhere around the kitchens.

“Yurr, you’m rarscal, git’n ee paws outen yon barsket!”

Foremole lifted a tiny mouse down from the shelftop, where she was rummaging in a basket to find the biggest berries. Sister Sloey menaced two small moles who were stained from ear to smock with crimson juice, shaking a wooden spoon at them as they stuffed strawberries into their mouths with both paws.

“Not another one, d’you hear me? Stop immediately!”

Through a mouthful of the fruit one of the molebabes explained patiently to the Infirmary Sister why they had to complete their self-appointed task. “Nay, marm, us’n’s be on’y h’eatin’ ee ones that’ll go bad soon. Hurr, it’n ’ard job furr ee loikes of uz h’infants!”

The Sister did not share their viewpoint. “The only things that’ll go bad are your tummies. You’ll be sick as stuffed frogs, the pair of you. Now, stop it this instant!”

All the Dibbuns froze as Cregga’s voice boomed severely through the kitchens. “Just point out any Dibbuns who’ve been pinching strawberries an’ I’ll deal with them, by the thundering seasons of strife I will!”

The molebabe, Wugger, tugged Friar Butty’s habit cord and whispered, “Yurr, zurr Butty, doan’t ee tell Badgermum oi bin pinchin’ st’awbees an’ oi woan’t tell on ee!”

The old Friar winked secretly at Wugger and spoke out loud. “Cregga, marm, how could you say such things? I’m sure none of the Dibbuns would be so villainous as to pinch strawberries. They’re merely helpin’ to carry them in and stack the baskets.”

A chorus of agreement burst from the Dibbuns.

“Yuss, Friar be right, marm!”

“Us’n’s be gudd an’ ’onest beasts!”

“Nono pincha st’awbees, not never!”

Cregga nodded solemnly. “Well, I’m very glad to hear it, because once, many seasons before any of you were born, we had a Dibbun at Redwall who . . . D’you remember what happened to him, Sister Sloey?”

Sloey pursed her lips forbiddingly as she continued the tale. “Oh, I recall that one right enough. He ate strawberries from dawn to dusk on the day of the harvest, never listened to a word when he was told to stop, kept on pinchin’ and scoffin’ all the biggest and juiciest ones. Guess what happened to him as he was on the stairs to the dormitory?” Sloey gazed around at the wide-eyed Dibbuns hanging on her every word. Suddenly she clapped her paws sharply and shouted out, “He went . . . Bang! Just like that! Exploded! Was never seen again! Isn’t that right, Friar Butty?”

The old squirrel nodded sadly. “Aye, that’s what happened, Sister. You can still see the red mark he left halfway up the stairs, poor greedy little mite!”