Dwopple swiped a strawberry and dipped it in honey. “Course not! Twenny-two’s norra right, us wen’ out wiv twenny-free dis mornin’, mista Rusbul counted ’em twice!”

Rusvul and Janglur took a swift count, which tallied with Sister Sloey’s. They dropped the cart handles.

“One’s missin’, Jang. We’ll have t’go back to the woodlands!”

“No, you stay ’ere, Rus. I’ll go!”

Rimrose hurried past both of them. “You two take a rest—I’ll go. There’s some cold mint tea setting in the pond shallows. Help yourselves—you deserve it.”

Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop was first to the tea jug. “Ah, jolly good, cold tea after a flippin’ day chasin’ those ruffians round bush an’ shrub, nothin’ like it!”

Rimrose found the Dibbun, a baby dormouse named Guff, with enormous ears. He had toddled right on past the main gates and was close to the end of the wall, going south. Rimrose caught up with him, though he started to run and she had to chase him. She swept the tiny fellow up into her paws. “Where d’you think you’re off to, my little button?”

Guff pointed a berrystained paw south down the path. “Gunna zing downed durr!”

The good squirrelwife translated Guff’s baby talk. “Going to sing down there? Why’d you want to do that?”

The dormouse babe looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “Cozz dat’s whair alla singen be’s!”

Rimrose did not doubt the Dibbun’s word—his large sensitive ears could pick up sounds far better than hers. She stood there holding the little creature, listening for quite a while until her ears too picked up the noise. It came from many voices raised heartily as they came through the woods, roaring out an old ballad called “Seven Seasons Gone.”

Rimrose felt her paws trembling as she lowered Guff back to the path. Excitement and many differing emotions crowded in on her, so that she could hardly put her words together correctly.

“Tell them Abbey, er, Abbey go, tell them Janglur, tell my daughter coming home. Quick Abbey!”

Guff nodded. He understood perfectly. Dibbuns spoke like that all the time, it was no problem. He trundled off toward Redwall while Rimrose dashed the other way, her skirts and aprons flapping as she yelled herself hoarse. “Song, it’s Song, my daughter’s coming home!”

Soon the dustcloud was seen rising above the trees, tramping paws keeping up with the old marching ballad. Strung across four pikestaffs borne by Song, Dann, Dippler and Gawjo, the great Redwall tapestry provided a fitting banner as they bellowed the words.

“Seven seasons gone, oh seven seasons gone,

But now I’m comin’ home, me dear ole mate,

Over valley hill’n’field an’ me footpaws didn’t yield,

Get some vittles on the table, I can’t wait!

Go t’the left right left! Go t’the left right left!

Seven seasons gone, oh seven seasons gone,