Chapter 1

‘She’s here!’ Tom yells at the top of his voice to no one in particular. No one answers back. Yanking open the front door of the old sandstone farmhouse Tom runs down the steps of the wide veranda and out to the car skidding to a halt.

Sitting behind the wheel his mother, Helen, smiles and waits for her exuberant son to unpack his cousin out of the car.

‘The Folly! I’m finally really here at the Folly,’ Gull sighs as she scrambles out of the car, giving Tom a big hug. ‘For the whole of the summer holidays! And Helen drove through your town, Getalong, on the way so I could have a peek.’ She looks excitedly around her. ‘Phew it’s hot for summer.’

‘And air so fresh you can’t even see it,’ Tom laughs.

‘Not like the city, that’s for sure,’ Gull says blinking as she adjusts to the glaring light. Small and white like a seagull, a year younger than ten-year old Tom, she is his favourite and only cousin.

‘Lots of fresh air, dust, and tonnes of flies: yep, welcome to country life, Gull.’

Hanging out the car’s window, Helen groans.

‘What?’

‘Some welcome, Tom,’ she laughs shaking her head.

Tom shrugs. ‘Come on,’ he says enthusiastically picking up Gull’s bags as he barges through the front door, ‘you’re sharing with Lucy. I’ll just plonk your bags on the bed,’ he adds as she runs after him.

‘Uh! Who’s this?’ Gull asks staggering back as a big, lively dog bounds and jumps, putting his paws on her shoulders, as they reach Lucy’s bedroom.

‘That’s our friendly Red Setter, Labrador cross. Down boy,’ Tom says.

‘Of course! You wrote about him. Hello Ulysses,’ Gull says, patting him.

‘Um, we’ve changed his name recently,’ Tom grins.

Gull looks at him, her head tilted to one side.

‘He’s now officially known as “Useless”.’

‘Why?’ Gull asks laughing as Useless licks her face ecstatically.

Tom shakes his head in exasperation. ‘You’ll find out soon enough: useless by name and useless by nature.’

Gull waits for Tom to say more but he just grins at her. Pretending to ignore him, she says, ‘Well before I do anything else, I’d love to see the real Folly. Is it up here?’ she asks walking out onto the landing near Lucy’s room.

‘Yep. Follow me,’ Tom waves. ‘And get ready for a family history lesson.’ A few steps later, the two of them are standing in the legendary Folly.

‘It’s not very big,’ she frowns. ‘Just big enough for a few people to move around in.’ She glances around at the small room with its pyramid-like ceiling. In the corner, Gull notices an old leather trunk, blackened and buckled with age. ‘What’s in the trunk?’

‘Just old junk and some ancient photos: the best ones are hanging up in the hall,’ Tom says proudly.

‘But who built this room? And why? I mean, why is this room even here at all? Odd!’

Tom nods. ‘I know. Really odd! I mean, our great, great-grandfather – and yours, was supposed to be this tough old farmer. Yet he insisted this room be built at the top of his rambling old farmhouse hundreds of years ago. Frederick Hepplewhite, hardworking and just plain hard by all accounts.’

‘But did anyone ask him why he wanted this room?’

‘Sure,’ Tom nods. ‘Some.’

‘And? What did he say?’

Tom grins. ‘He said, “Because I say so”.’

Gull frowns. ‘Is that all he said?’

‘Nope. Apparently the builder asked him why he wanted this room. And Frederick roared, “The farmhouse wants it.” Then he just glared at the builder and stomped off.’

Gull gulps. ‘Phew! I’m glad he’s not around now. But why is this huge farm called after this little room? That’s so weird.’

‘Because of his neighbours,’ Tom explains as he sits down on the old trunk. ‘People started saying this Folly was where Fred kept his “hot air” because a lot of people thought that was what he was full of. They all called it “Fred’s Folly” for ages but after he died and his sons took over, the whole farm just became known as the Folly. And before you ask me what a ‘folly’ is, I’ll tell you.’ He laughs at Gull as her mouth is already forming a ‘why’ for her next question.

‘Are you a mind reader too?’ she asks.

‘Like Mum?’ He shakes his head. ‘No thanks! It’s just that you like to ask lots of questions that I know the answers to. I like that,’ he grins. ‘Makes me feel really clever.’

Gull punches him lightly on the arm. ‘So what’s the answer? And where’s everybody else? Where’s Lucy? And where’s Jake?’

Tom shrugs. ‘Jake’s pretty easy to find, so we’d better hunt down Lucy first. Then we can all tell you what a ‘folly’ is.’

Rushing out of the Folly and down the stairs with Gull close on his heels and Useless bounding ahead, they race out the front door and away towards a stand of ghost gums in the distance. As they stumble through the undergrowth, Useless sniffing every twig, Tom calls out, ‘Lucy? Lucy? Are you here?’ Just as he’s about to give up, Gull hears someone calling down.

‘Look out, dopey!’

Automatically, Tom and Gull look up. The next minute, a sketchpad is sailing through the air over their heads. Coloured pencils like arrows rain down on them, Gull ducking, Tom hitting the ground and groaning dramatically. The next minute, a scruffy looking twelve year-old girl in oil and paint-smeared overalls, lands in front of them.

‘Ta da! How’s that for an entrance?’

‘Pretty dangerous if you ask me,’ Tom says grumpily as he struggles up brushing leaves and twigs off his t-shirt and jeans.

Ignoring him, Lucy grins at Gull and gives her a big hug. ‘One grumpy brother! Don’t know why: they’re only pencils, not missiles.’

‘But what were you doing up there?’ Gull asks as she and Lucy begin picking up the scattered pencils and the sketchpad.

‘Oh, just trying to get a different view: trying to draw the tops of trees looking down instead of looking up for a change.’

‘She’s always doing funny stuff like that,’ Tom says shaking his head. ‘She’s always embarrassing me: always trying to work things out by looking at them upside down instead of the right way up, like normal people. Like a bat hanging upside down: guess she must be batty.’

Lucy winks at Gull and smirking says, ‘Remember Tom, I’m your big sister…’

‘That’s her excuse for everything,’ he says kicking up some dirt with his foot. “I’m your big sister…” which is then followed by “and I’m always right because I was here first.’

Gull giggles. ‘I wish I had a brother or sister to fight with.’

‘We’re not fighting,’ her cousins say together looking surprised.

‘Could have fooled me,’ Gull says as she sees Lucy elbow her brother. Changing the subject, she asks, ‘Can I see what you’ve done?’

Lucy shakes her head, trying to hide her sketchpad behind her back. ‘Sorry but Tom’ll only laugh at me. It always looks really stupid at the beginning. I don’t let anyone see what I’ve done until I’m happy with it.’ Quickly changing the subject, she adds, ‘Let’s go find Jake.’

Hardly glancing at her sketchpad, Lucy strides off with Tom and Gull trooping behind. ‘He’ll be in his favourite room. Come on you two, let’s run.’

Lucy sprints ahead holding her sketchpad above her head and yelling “Yip, yip, yip, yip” at the top of her voice. From nowhere, Useless suddenly appears running after Lucy as hard as he can.

Just as she reaches the kitchen door, Tom and Gull catch her up puffing.

‘Here’s Jake. And here’s Gull,’ Lucy pants as Useless pushes past all of them.

‘Wondered when you’d turn up,’ Jake smiles shyly. He gives Gull a warm, floury hug. Fairer and slighter than his untidy, restless twin, Tom, and his big sister, Jake grabs a covered plate behind him. ‘You’re just in time for morning tea,’ he says as he slides the plate onto the kitchen table. ‘I’m trying out a new recipe, a flourless chocolate cake.’

‘Yum! Gull exclaims. ‘So how come you’re covered in flour?’

‘Oh, that’s from the scones I made this morning,’ he answers as he boils the kettle for tea. Gull notices there is already cream and jam, plates, cups and saucers on the table under a see-through tablecloth to keep the flies away. He shakes his head at his sister. ‘You’re a mess, Lucy.’

Tom grins. ‘Only happy when she’s covered in paint or engine oil.’

‘But you’re so lucky to be doing something you really love, Lucy,’ Gull sighs.

‘Just as long as it’s a mess,’ Tom grins, leaping away just in time as his big sister playfully lunges at him. ‘Gull’s got a question,’ he squeals.

‘What?’

‘What’s a “folly”?’

‘Good question,’ Lucy nods as Useless leans on her for a rubdown. She laughs. ‘A bit like our dog: useless. Just a useless room! Our Folly just happens to be a small room with a triangular window almost to the floor: don’t know why. Except you can see a lot of the farm from there.’

‘But what did Fred say when people called his farm the Folly?’ Gull asks.

Lucy shrugs. ‘Well I think he just ignored it: Fred didn’t have a lot to do with his neighbours. He just called this place “my farm”.’

‘It was always “my” something or other,’ Tom adds. ‘My farm, my wife, my children, my money, my sheep…” It’s a long list.’

‘Weird,’ Gull muses as she pats Useless idly.

‘But the really weird thing,’ Tom continues cutting across Gull’s daydreaming, ‘is that in each generation, one particular dog on the farm takes over the Folly and seems to spend a lot of time up there. Can you guess which dog, Gull?’

‘It’s a pretty easy guess,’ Lucy laughs, ‘seeing she’s only met one dog so far.’

‘It has to be Useless. But I wonder why?’ Gull frowns.

‘That’s what every generation wonders,’ Tom says eagerly.

Gull imagines the small, strange room. ‘So that’s all there is? Just a small, useless room?’

‘Yep,’ Jake answers. ‘No big mystery! No secret cupboards. No sliding walls.’

‘We’ve searched everywhere for something hidden,’ Tom says.

Gull’s frown deepens. ‘What about rumours? Aren’t there any rumours about hidden treasure or nasty villains or…?’

‘Sure. Some old rumour about robbers and stuff,’ Tom shrugs bored.

‘And that the Folly is always protected against disaster,’ Lucy pipes up.

‘But no one takes much notice of that stuff. Everyone’s too busy,’ Tom says. ‘Pretty boring if you ask me! Anyway, the farm is called the Folly. So, Gull,’ he adds, now totally bored with the subject, ‘what do you want to do next?’

Just then, Jake adds some hot ginger biscuits to the table. Gull’s eyes follow them and her mouth begins to water.

Lucy laughs. ‘At least you won’t starve while you’re staying with us,’ she says, giving Jake a playful shove. ‘With Jake around, it’s a wonder we’re not all rolypoly.’

‘That reminds me,’ Jake says. ‘I can make a jam roll for tomorrow.’

‘Speaking of jam,’ Tom grins. ‘Before we eat, come out to the big shed and I’ll show you our latest jam.’ He winks at his siblings and they start giggling.

Gull frowns. Jam doesn’t sound very interesting, she thinks. ‘I thought I might be able to gather the eggs or feed the horses. Or, maybe,’ she says wistfully, ‘if there were some puppies… ’

Her cousins groan. ‘Plenty of time for that,’ Lucy says matter-of-factly. ‘Jam first,’ she sings out as she dashes out of the kitchen, away from the tempting food, followed closely by Gull and Tom, with Jake following behind.

Just then, the cowbell at the front door of the two hundred year old farmhouse rings furiously. The four of them stop their race towards the big shed and race back inside.

‘Your turn,’ Tom says grinning at Gull.

‘To do what?’ she asks.

‘To open the door,’ Tom smirks.

She hesitates.

‘Go on,’ Jake says encouragingly.

‘But I don’t know anybody here,’ Gull says.

‘You don’t have to,’ Tom says giving her a slight push towards the front door.

‘Pie time,’ Jake says and grins at Gull.

Gull gives him a quizzical look. Lucy is staring at the ceiling, whistling softly. Gull steps forward frowning, not knowing what to expect when she opens the door. Slowly she does so, peering around the edge as it opens creakily.

‘There’s nobody here,’ Gull says gazing around. She steps outside and checks both sides of the doorway, expecting someone to pop out at her any minute. Then she notices a car in the distance kicking up dust as it speeds off. ‘That’s odd. Why didn’t they stop?’ she asks bemused.

Suddenly, she spins right around listening. The next instance, she flies down the front steps: a dilapidated cardboard box is sitting on the flagged path. She bends down intrigued. The box moves. Gull squeals. She looks up to see her cousins standing around her with their hands over their mouths and their shoulders shaking. Gull pushes back the flaps of the box. ‘Oh, wonderful! Look everybody. Puppies! Just what I wished for.’

Just then, Helen appears behind her children and groans. Hearing the cowbell she’s come to investigate. Shaking her head Helen closes her eyes. ‘Eight – no, nine,’ she says. Tom peers into the box, picks up a few warm, squirming bundles and then places them carefully back in the box.

‘Right again, Mum,’ he says.

‘How do you do that?’ Gull asks impressed. ‘How do you know things without er, knowing you er, know?’

‘It’s a gift,’ Helen says. ‘Being psychic runs on my side of the family. Grandma has it and my mother’s got it too.’

‘Has Lucy got it?’ Gull asks excitedly.

‘You make it sound like measles,’ Helen laughs, tall and dark like Lucy but with a slight frame like Jake. ‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ she says mysteriously. ‘Knowing things before they happen, picking up invisible signs, is not always for the best. Then again, sometimes it is.’

‘Mum, remember when you guessed what each of us had made for your birthday?’ Tom says eagerly.

‘That’s the problem,’ Helen says. ‘I don’t get as many surprises as everybody else: that’s the downside. But enough of star gazing or should I say puppy gazing. Somebody, why don’t you take Gull and the puppies over to the shed? Harry will be thrilled, I don’t think,’ she adds shaking her head ruefully.

‘You don’t have to be psychic to know that,’ Tom laughs picking up the box carefully. Everybody walks off towards the kitchen at the back of the Folly. ‘Dad’ll be down the back tinkering. Dad can fix anything,’ he says proudly as he balances the box in his arms.

‘Ooh, let me,’ Gull says reaching out. Tom nods and cradles the box in Gull’s outstretched arms. She grins from ear to ear as the puppies squirm around inside – fat, warm and mewling. Useless walks at her side proudly. The three of them stroll around the side of the house. Nearby, they can see the big, corrugated iron shed. As they walk nearer, Gull can see her uncle Harry. He’s standing slightly stooped at the back of the shed listening to a short, sandy-coloured man in a pale suit.

‘What was Lucy talking about?’ Gull asks Tom.

‘Huh?’ Tom says, watching his father as they amble towards the big shed.

‘About jam! Have you made a different flavour? Not like strawberry or apricot but something really strange? Maybe liquorice?’

‘Er, not exactly,’ Tom says grinning at her as she juggles the squirming box in her arms, Useless never leaving her side.

‘Well tell me. What’s the big secret? What flavour is it?’

‘Marmalade,’ he says trying not to laugh.

‘Marmalade? That’s not very exciting.’

Entering the big shed, Gull stops, peering around at all the farm paraphernalia: the big, red Harvester next to her uncle and a stranger, the bits of rope, wire and tools hanging off various hooks, a small yellow tractor in the corner. ‘Where’s the marmalade?’ she asks, craning her neck as she searches for jars of jam. Just then, Gull feels soft fur wrapping itself around her legs: she almost drops the box of puppies.

‘This marmalade is unique,’ Tom grins. ‘It has four paws and is soft and furry. And her name is “Jam”, of course.’

Gull looks down and into the face of the prettiest marmalade coloured cat she has ever seen. ‘Oh, isn’t she beautiful,’ Gull coos quickly handing the box to Tom and bending down to stroke the fluffy tabby who is covered in muted tones of orange, white and chocolate. Tom puts the box down on the ground. Just then, a wavering shadow falls across the box. The puppies mewl louder.

‘They must be hungry,’ the man in the pale suit says, bending down and pushing back a flap of the box. A shaft of light glints on something silver in the man’s hand as he bends down to pat them. He puts this same hand into the box and when he stands up, he’s holding one of the squirming puppies.

Just then, Useless, who has wandered away, rushes back to where the group is standing. Teeth bared, he growls at the stranger. The next minute, Useless starts barking frantically, his hackles rising. The man turns pale and immediately puts the puppy back in the box. As he straightens, the man closes the old-fashioned watch in his hand. Again, Useless barks. Then he resumes growling.

‘Grab his collar, Tom!’ Harry shouts as he lopes towards them.

Tom seizes the dog’s collar and holds it firmly.

‘Sorry about that, Mr Sprogg,’ Harry says looking quizzically at the mutt. He shakes his head. ‘Never known him to do that before.’ Frowning at Useless, Harry says, ‘I’ll walk you to your car. You look a bit shaken.’ As they walk quickly out of the shed away from Useless, Harry shakes his head. ‘I can’t understand it. Useless is so placid: more likely to lick you to death than bite you. That’s why he’s the kids’ dog. So,’ he says as they continue walking towards the beige car, ‘you say we were at school together. Well that’s got me beat. For the life of me, I can’t remember you.’

Just then, Gull glances over at the man with Harry: she catches a fleeting look of fury on his face. The next instant, his face is bland again.

‘Don’t give it a second thought, Mr Hepplewhite. Anyway, it was a long time ago, almost twenty years. And now,’ he says, opening and closing his old-fashioned watch, ‘it doesn’t matter.’

Gull, intrigued by the man’s face, sees a small, forced smile and glimpses sharp teeth. Reminds me of a wolf, she thinks. Gull shivers. She glances over at Useless, now whimpering under Tom’s firm hold. She stares after the colourless man as he climbs into his car. Her uncle turns and walks back towards them, tall, dark, with a handsome, weathered face. He’s in his mid-thirties.

‘You can let go now,’ Harry says to his son. As soon as he’s free, Useless heads straight for the puppies in the box. With his nose, he gently touches each one, whimpering and nuzzling enthusiastically. ‘Well that’s a turn-up for the books,’ Harry murmurs standing over Useless and frowning. ‘Never known him to growl at anyone before. He’s always so friendly.’

‘Maybe he didn’t like a stranger picking up his pups,’ Gull suggests.

‘Never bothered him before,’ Harry says, scratching his head. ‘Everyone’s his best friend. Hope he’s not turning nasty all of a sudden.’

‘No Dad,’ Tom says hastily. ‘I’m sure he isn’t.’

‘I saw a flash of silver as that man bent over the puppies,’ Gull blurts out. ‘Maybe Useless saw the same thing, and he was protecting his puppies. Thought they were in danger or something.’

‘Could be,’ Harry says shrugging the matter away. ‘Just as well you’re here Gull, to look after us all.’ Harry bends down to Gull’s level, balancing on his haunches. ‘Good to see you on the farm for once,’ he says playfully ruffling her white-blonde hair. ‘Now, just put those puppies over there, Gull,’ he requests pointing to a pen in the corner.

Gull opens the gate of the pen and her jaw drops. A heap of puppies – all different sizes and shapes – are playing, dozing and fighting in the roomy pen.

‘How many this time?’ Harry asks over his shoulder as he walks back to the giant Harvester near the back of the shed.

‘Nine,’ Tom says very quietly.

‘Can’t hear you,’ Harry shouts.

Tom gives Gull a hopeless look.

‘Less than ten, Dad,’ Tom says loudly.

Harry stops tightening a bolt on the Harvester and looks hard at his son. ‘How many less?’

‘Er, one less,’ Tom says as he and Gull finish putting the puppies in the pen.

Harry walks back towards Tom and Gull, wiping his hands with a greasy rag. He tucks it in a pocket of his oil stained jeans. He gazes down at all the wriggling puppies. Then he looks down at Useless standing beside him, wagging every part of himself with pride and joy, a big lopsided grin on his face. ‘Father of the Year again,’ Harry says laughing. ‘Looks like some exotic specimen this time,’ he says shaking his head at Useless who just grins back, wagging his tail even harder. ‘Can’t fit many more in the pie dish, I’m afraid, Useless.’

Immediately, Gull straightens up. ‘Pie dish? What pie dish?’

‘Oh, that’s just what Dad calls this pen,’ Tom shrugs.

‘But why Harry?’ Gull asks her uncle.

‘Well,’ Harry says seriously, ‘if there comes a time when there are too many mouths to feed or this new crop of mine fails, there’s just one thing left to do. It’s what I like to call “puppy pie” time.’

Gull looks at him hard. ‘You mean,’ she says looking stricken, ‘you’d put the puppies in a pie? And eat them?’ She looks back at the warm, fat puppies, playing, sleeping and squeaking. Some of them look back at her, their heads cocked to one side, their big brown eyes soulful.

‘What else can I do with twenty-one puppies?’ Harry asks shrugging. ‘Mmm, I think puppy pie would be best with puff pastry. Must ask Jake: he knows all about these things.’

Just then, Harry glances down at Gull: he sees a very determined look on the face of his usually easy-going niece. She pulls herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. ‘Harry,’ she says firmly, ‘I won’t let you. Even if I have to take them all home with me, you are not eating puppy pie.’ Then her bottom lip begins to quiver. Harry bends down immediately and gives her a big hug. ‘Oh, honey, I was only kidding,’ he says quickly. ‘Wasn’t I, Tom?’

‘Yep,’ Tom replies just as quickly. ‘Dad, you tell the biggest whoppers. Even if the jokes are pretty lame,’ he adds.

Gull looks at both of them and bursts into tears of relief. They all start laughing.

Harry grins. ‘Anyway, I don’t even like puppy pie. Why, the last time I had it, all those waggly tails kept getting up my nose.’

‘Harry,’ Gull gasps, playfully punching her uncle’s arm. He picks her up and throws her into the air, swinging her onto his shoulders.

‘Enough tinkering! Time for morning tea! I’m starving,’ he adds as he strides off towards the farmhouse with Tom at his side and Gull on his shoulders. Useless has wandered out of the shed and is nowhere to be seen.

‘By the way, Dad,’ Tom says, ‘who was that man you were talking to?’

‘What man?’ Harry thinks. ‘Oh, him! I’d forgotten all about him. Says he’s the new bank manager, Cyril Sprogg. He says we were at school together but for the life of me, I can’t remember him. Suppose it doesn’t matter much. Anyway, he came out to introduce himself.’ His voice drops slightly. ‘Guess the Bank will go on as usual with the overdraft. He didn’t mention it so I suppose we plod along as usual. But soon,’ he adds smiling, ‘we won’t have an overdraft if this new crop of mine goes as well as I expect. Can’t wait,’ he says, picking up his pace and running towards the farmhouse, Gull bouncing happily up and down on his shoulders. ‘And I can tell you all about the new crop, Gull. It has so much potential for us Hepplewhites and for all the other farmers too. Very, very exciting!’

Tom swings open the kitchen screen door, Gull ducking her head, and the three of them disappear inside.

Back in the big shed, with her fur fluffed up and her tail in the air, the marmalade cat, Jam, jumps gracefully into the puppy pen as if she’s a queen. Stepping daintily over several sleeping puppies, she plops herself down on the straw purring in anticipation. Sensing Jam’s maternal presence, the new arrivals squeak, squeal and stumble over to where she lies. In no time, there is silence: the new arrivals have found warmth and milk from Jam. She is never happier than when she’s surrounded by Useless’ offspring.

* * *

Feeling that morning tea is not quite ready, Useless happily climbs the stairs to his favourite room, the Folly. As usual, he plops himself down below the large triangular window and breathes a sigh of relief. Like his ancestors before him, Useless never wonders why he likes this room so much. All he knows is that he feels free.

And, like his ancestors before him, that is exactly what he is: free for a while from those mites that live on dogs, causing them to scratch and bite themselves for relief. Now, Useless is free to lie perfectly still without a constant tickling somewhere on his furry body.

Just as he settles down under the triangular window of the Folly, microscopic black specks leap off Useless and into the air. With centuries of practice to perfect their aim, the ancient Mite family lands precisely on the windowsill. And, if they had eyes to see, would find themselves looking over hundreds of hectares of the new crop waiting to be harvested.

Ma, the formidable matriarch of the family, gazes sightlessly forward, always alert for signs of danger. Since the first dog arrived on the farm carrying Ma and her family, she has been protecting the Folly and all of the descendants of Frederick Hepplewhite. No bigger than a comma, Ma rules her brood with an iron mind, mentally slapping and hounding wayward mites. If she were seen, Ma would appear as a mere speck in the life of the farm but she is the most important speck any farm could hope to have.

Around her, crowd dozens of microscopic mites invisible to the human eye. Ma, grandmother multiplied by thousands of generations, is the ancient custodian of the farm. Instinctively, she knows when something is not right.

‘Not right,’ she mumbles to herself.

‘What’s wrong?’ Max asks, a muscular, miniscule speck crouching beside Ma.

‘Something,’ she says irritably as she moves closer to the window and senses a beige car driving away from the farm.

‘What is it, Ma?’ Dizzy asks, one of the latest generations.

‘A bland bombshell.’

Dizzy rolls her eyes: she’s used to Ma talking in riddles.

The mites standing nearest her – Cha-Cha, Terra and Tiny – shrug knowing better than to ask for an explanation. Ma is infamous for two things: her prophecies and her quick, bad temper.

‘Not happy,’ she frowns. She imagines her latest brood near by. ‘Bad time for bad tidings,’ she mumbles to herself. Mentally, she shakes her head, imagining those around her. This new generation -xyz- are all wrapped up in themselves, she thinks. They want everything “now”. Just when the Folly needs fighters, what do I get? A generation of dizzy singers and dancers! Oh well, she mentally shrugs, I suppose I’m surrounded by the best of a bad lot. She senses each in turn: Max, all brawn but very little brain; Dizzy, forever going around in circles, and Terra, her most grounded mite. Which isn’t saying much, Ma sighs. Then there’s Cha-Cha, infected with dance fever from watching too many dancing competitions on TV; and Tiny, the smallest of the family, too young to be useful.

Well, she thinks despondently, let’s hope I don’t have to call on the rest. O Solo Mio, for instance, always wanting to be left alone. Or Flighty who is just that: flighty. If only Dolo and Dyna, the most capable of all my mites, had stayed on the farm. But what do they do when my back is turned? Catch a French Poodle to Paris!

She slaps herself hard: concentrate, Ma. There’s the future in front of us, a fine green crop waiting to be harvested.

A slight breeze ruffles the rich green leaves, and the crop sways gently. In the distance, two giant fire engine red Harvesters crawl through the open gates. Getting ready for tomorrow, Ma thinks. And tomorrow, with Harry’s Harvester, that will make three. A ripple of fear runs through her as she mentally pictures the new crop, the first of its kind in the area. Why am I afraid all of a sudden? Everything seems so normal. No, something is wrong: I know that ancient feeling.

‘Tell us a story, Ma,’ Tiny asks plaintively, breaking across Ma’s thoughts.

‘Yes,’ Cha-Cha says wiggling. ‘I’m bored. There’s no music up here for dancing to.’

Acting automatically while her senses reach into the heart of the Folly searching for the threat, Ma begins her recitation. ‘A century and a half ago, Frederick Hepplewhite was alive and well. He was a clever, cantankerous, hardworking man. One evening, robbers stormed into the farmhouse where the family was having dinner.’

‘Oooh!’ Tiny whispers. ‘Was it a dark and stormy night?’

Absentmindedly, as she continues searching for the threat, Ma says, ‘Yes, if you like, it was a dark and stormy night. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the first thing the robbers did was tie up the family and polish off the dinner. Next, they threatened to burn down the farmhouse if Fred didn’t give them all his money.’

‘Oooh!’ the mites say in unison.

‘Now, Fred had worked very hard and didn’t want to lose his money, his farmhouse, his family or his life. But this time, Fred was well and truly up the creek. His hands were tied. And so were his feet.’

Tiny stifles a laugh: she knows Ma has no sense of humour, and doesn’t mean to be funny.

‘So,’ continues Ma, ‘it was now up to your ancestors to save the family and the farmhouse. But what could they do? The dogs were asleep under the house and unaware of the threat. So, your ancestors did the one thing they did best: they bit the sleeping dogs awake. Next, the dogs rushed into the house. As soon as the dogs saw what was happening, they jumped up on the robbers and knocked them to the ground.’

‘Oooh!’ the mites chorus: they love this part of the story.

Ma pretends not to hear, and continues. ‘Then the fiercest dogs surrounded the robbers with teeth bared, snarling nastily. In the meantime, one of Useless’ smart ancestors yanked and pulled at Fred’s ropes with her teeth until the ropes gave way. In fact, Useless comes from a long line of smart dogs although you’d never think it to look at him,’ she adds picturing Useless asleep below them. ‘Then,’ she says continuing, ‘Fred grabs the robbers’ weapons, releases his family, ties up the robbers with their own ropes, and sends the youngest son on horseback for the police. Fred always believed that even if the robbers had got their hands on his money, they would have burned down the farmhouse just for spite. A lot of people were jealous of old Fred. He’d done very well for himself because he’d worked hard.’

There is silence while the mites digest this cautionary tale.

Just then Ma, alert as always, senses tea being poured into a mug. ‘Jump!’ she yells as Useless, ears pricked, tunes into the sounds of morning tea. He gets up immediately, picturing crumbs and fallen titbits. Just in time, the mites land back on Useless who sighs wearily and pads down the stairs to the kitchen.

Useless noses into the kitchen and plops down under the kitchen table. As he does, Jake begins cutting up the flourless chocolate cake and slicing the date roll.

‘What if,’ Harry begins, ‘there was a crop that not only fed you but clothed you and insulated your house?’

‘This new crop of ours is completely pest resistant,’ Tom breaks in quickly as Useless scours among their feet searching for crumbs.

‘Don’t forget it needs less water to grow than most other crops,’ Lucy says. ‘So it’s perfect for a drought-riddled country like Australia.’

‘Guessed yet Gull?’ Jake asks grinning.

‘That’s easy. Bamboo,’ Gull says triumphantly.

‘Why bamboo?’ Helen asks passing the date roll to Lucy.

‘Well, you said you could eat your new crop, and you can eat bamboo shoots.’

‘True,’ Harry says nodding.

‘Then you said you can make it into clothes. And I’ve touched towels made out of bamboo – so soft. You can make bowls and mugs and other stuff out of it too. Oh and,’ she adds, ‘you can use bamboo for scaffolding on buildings, it’s that strong. So’, she says, ‘I bet you’re going to harvest bamboo.’ She looks around the table and grins.

Every face smiles at her but then they all shake their heads sadly.

‘Please stop teasing me,’ Gull whines. ‘Tell me somebody. What is it?’