Seated atop the haversack, which was strapped to a low sycamore branch that dipped into the willowherb, Baby Dumble looked as if he were still perched on his friend’s shoulders. The trick had worked perfectly! The infant dormouse shouted excitedly: “Mista Thugg! Did ya biff th’ foxes, Mista Thugg!”

Thrugg stood over the prostrate foxes, twirling his heavy stone-loaded sling. “Aye, matey, I raised lumps like duck eggs on the villains!”

The big otter disarmed the foxes, throwing their weapons off into the surrounding shrubbery. Breaking off a whippy willow switch, he revived them with a few smarting cuts. “Come on, hearties. Snooze time’s over. Up on yer paws!”

*   *   *

Each contributing a shoulder, the four foxes were made to bear the haversack with Dumble sitting on it between them. Thrugg walked behind as they trekked along the north path, making sure they did not flag or lag with his willow switch. By nightfall the foxes were sore, hungry, weary and in tears. Thrugg had driven them a fair distance, even at double speed through a ford where pike lurked.

“Waaahahhooh!” The fox named Ringworm bawled unashamedly. “A pike bit me back there. It ain’t fair!”

Thrugg waggled the cane under his nose. “Stop moanin’, mate. You won’t die, though maybe the pike will. Righty-ho then, you scruffy bandits, ’ad enough?”

“Oh, let us go, sir. We’ve ’ad enough!” The foxes collapsed weeping in the road.

Dumble took charge. Swishing the cane perilously close to them, he made them repeat extravagant promises never to be naughty, to help other creatures and to get a good wash every night. Thrugg chuckled at the sight of the infant dormouse making sure each fox repeated his lines word for word. The otter then took out his sling and loaded it.

“Right, me lucky lads, I’m goin’ to count ten. Then if I can still see you I’m comin’ after you. We need porters for tomorrow, see. One, two, three . . .”

Before he had reached seven the four foxes were rapidly vanishing into the distance down the dusky path.

*   *   *

Thrugg and Dumble camped at the edge of the path that night, beside two curiously shaped stones known to travelers as “the otter and his wife” because of their odd contours. Seated by a merry little fire they had a good supper of beechnut scones, cherry cake and cider.

Thrugg stirred the flames with a stick as he ruminated. “Harr, who knows what lies beyond the ’orizon tomorrer, matey.”

Baby Dumble also picked up a stick and prodded the fire, nodding his head seriously as he imitated his big otter friend. “Oh harr, matey. Might be more foxes an’ serpinks. But you stick wiv Dumble, Mista Thugg. I’ll take care of ya.”

Stifling his laughter, Thrugg tossed his warm jerkin at the infant. “You liddle villain, I’ll take care of you if you’re not asleep soon. Wrap y’self in that there jerkin.”