* * *

Far to the northwest of Camp Willow, the moles were making ready within sight of the river bank. The great tunneling was about to begin.

Chibb watched them from a plane tree. The feathered spy was now in semi-retirement. He had amassed a considerable store of candied chestnuts for his services. Still, he thought, there was no harm earning the odd extra nut by standing guard here.

Foremole and Old Dinny paced and measured, mole digging terms were bandied about freely.

“Needen furm ground. Roots t’make shorin’s too, urr.”

“Ho urr, good down’ards gradin’ t’make watter flow roight.”

“An’ rockmovers, Billum. ’Ee be a gurt rockmover.”

“Aye, but moind ’ee doant crossen no owd tunnellen. Doant want fludd goen wrongways, hurr.”

Above in the trees, Amber’s crew were dropping down timber for the sluicegates.

“Mind out below!”

“Tip that end up, Barklad.”

“Come out of the way, young un.”

“Right. Let ’er go!”

On the ground, Loamhedge mice were stripping, cleaning and jointing the wood. Abbess Germaine rolled up her wide sleeves and joined in with a will.

“Columbine! Here, child, sit on the end of this log and keep it still,” she called out. “I’ll mark it here, where the joint should be.”

“’Scuse me, Abbess. Where do we put these pine branches?” a strong young mouse asked.

“Take them over there. Mr Stickle has his little ones pulling the bark and twigs off all the new wood.”

“Hey, Ferdy, I think I might like to be a carpenter instead of a warrior. What about you?” Coggs decided.

“Oh, I’m going to be a warrior carpenter, Coggs. Posy, will you stop carving patterns and strip that bark.”

“Ooh, look! Here’s Miz Bella with some big stones. My, isn’t she strong!” Posy exclaimed.

“Can I put these stones here, Spike? Whew! I’ll have to go back for more now. I saw Goody coming through the woods—I think it’s beechnut crumble and elderberry fritters for lunch.”

“Hurray, my favorite!” Ferdy said delightedly.

“Don’t forget to wash those paws in the river before you eat.” Bella reminded them.

“But, Miz Bella, all us workbeasts get mucky paws.” Coggs protested. “Shows we’ve been working hard.”

“Oh, and what about littlebeasts? They get mucky paws just playing. You scrub ’em with some bank sand, young Coggs.”

* * *

The woodlanders stood by after lunch until Old Dinny was brought to the spot where the tunnels would begin. Three young champion digging moles were there—Billum, Soilflyer and Urthclaw. They stood respectfully to one side as Foremole escorted Old Dinny forward. Billum presented the ancient one with a beakerful of October ale. He quaffed most of it in one gulp. Emptying the rest on the ground where the work was to take place, Old Dinny recited,

Moles a-tunnellen, deep an’ far.
Moles a-diggen, urr that we are.

Foremole nodded approvingly. Old Dinny was quite a solemn mole versifier. He raised a gnarled claw to the three champions. They went to it with a will amid loud cheers. Other teams would follow up, widening and shoring in their wake.