The tree she collapsed under was the birch tree near Fred’s burrow—or, rather, Fred and Phoebe’s burrow, since they’d now been together several weeks. By woodchuck standards that made them an old married couple. Now two woodchucks woke up every morning at nine. Fred preferred twin beds—sleeping together mussed your fur—but he and Phoebe would wake up at the same instant, rub the sleep out of their eyes, look at each other, and smile. After a nice, civilized breakfast, they cleaned house. They spent most afternoons foraging for food, and later they fixed dinner together. In the evenings they reminisced about the day by the light of the glowworms till they started to yawn, then they padded off to bed.
One morning a dreadful wailing woke them two hours early.
“What a racket!” Phoebe exclaimed, sitting up in bed. “Do you suppose it’s that brown bear we saw last week?”
“Sounds more like a moose,” Fred said. “I believe it’s their mating season.”
They went to the entrance mound and stood there blinking till their eyes adjusted to the rays of the just-risen sun. The wailing went on, but there wasn’t a moose in sight.
“You’d think they’d be too big to hide,” Phoebe said. “Especially with those silly antlers.”
“Let’s go back to bed.”
But in fact the noise was too shrill to sleep through, and when Phoebe headed for the birch tree—it seemed to be coming from thereabouts—Fred followed. Much as he hated getting morning dew on his fur, he hated the idea of her facing a moose alone even more.
It wasn’t a moose. It was a plump human child. Fred instantly backed away from the deafening thing. Not because it looked dangerous but because it was so repulsive. The creature’s nightdress was filthy and covered with burrs, and its face and hands and feet were smeared with mud.
“Are you all right, child?” Phoebe said, going right up to it. “Where are your parents?”
Nine just wailed louder. What was this nasty, hairy-faced beast peering at her?
“We should be getting back, Phoebe,” Fred shouted over the din.
“But, Fred! We can’t leave the poor thing out here.”
“Why not?”
“She’s just a baby.”
“She’s awfully big for a baby.”
“But she’s lost.”
“She seems to have found her way here. No doubt she can find her way back where she came from.”
Phoebe tugged him aside. “You mustn’t talk like that in front of her,” she whispered.
“Why not? She can’t understand us.”
“How do you know?”
“Even if she could, she couldn’t hear us over her own caterwauling. Besides, what on earth could we do for her?”
“Take her home.”
“We don’t know where she lives.”
“To the burrow, I mean.”
“Our burrow? You can’t be serious, Phoebe.”
“She’s helpless.”
“She certainly doesn’t sound it. Besides, if we move her, the parents won’t be able to find her.”
After making this convincing point, Fred strode rather smugly back to the burrow. It was early for breakfast, but since the wailing ruled out going back to bed, he arranged portions of clover on the table. However, Phoebe didn’t join him. And he was so used to having all his meals with her now, so used to discussing the freshness of the food and their plans for the day, that he found he couldn’t eat alone.
He went back to the entrance mound. To his horror, she was shoving the bawling child his way.
“Let her be, sweetheart! Come have breakfast!”
But Phoebe either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear him.
“Of all the lousy luck,” Fred said, talking to himself for the first time in weeks.
Since becoming a couple, he and Phoebe had had only one argument. After returning from a visit to her sister and the kids, Phoebe had brought up the alarming idea of starting a family of their own, and when he’d made the obvious objection—that children turned life topsy-turvy—she’d replied without a shred of logic that topsy-turvy wasn’t necessarily so terrible. Of course not even she could argue his point that she was very young and they hadn’t even been together a season yet. But now this wretched human child had landed smack on their doorstep!
All by herself Phoebe managed to push the thing right up to the entrance mound.
“What in the world are you doing?” he said, astonished by her strength.
“If that bear comes back,” Phoebe said, “he’ll rip the poor thing to shreds.”
“Well, she’s certainly not coming in my burrow.”
Phoebe gave Fred a long look. Much as she loved him, she longed for someone to hug and cuddle—things Fred never did.
“Then I’ll just have to take her to Babette’s,” she said.
Fred watched, speechless, as Phoebe pushed the creature off in the direction of the stream. He hated it when she went to the big stump. Sometimes she stayed away for hours and he missed her terribly.
“When will you be back?”
“Hard to say,” Phoebe called over her shoulder.
“You’ll never get that thing across the fir tree!”
But again she either couldn’t or wouldn’t hear him. Her strength really was mind-boggling. In five minutes she and the bawling creature were nearly out of sight.