‘We’re charging everyone a gold coin donation for entry and then a dollar if they want to play the games,’ I told Aunt Evie a week later as we sat on the front steps. Miss Pearl was enjoying a frolic in the crisp morning air, while I had Willow cradled in my arms. ‘Do you think that’ll be okay?’

The recent storm had brought a welcome flush of green to the cottage yard and the air was a flurry of chirping birds and buzzing insects. The perfect day for our school fundraiser.

Aunt Evie took a sip of her tea. I’d worn my pink-corduroy daisy dress and leggings, while she’d chosen her favourite red pants, hoop earrings and a red-checked scarf. She’d even worn her best socks with her sandals. ‘Sounds like a plan!’ she said.

I smiled. With his arm still in a sling, Harry would be spewing that he couldn’t play Red Rover, but I was sure he wouldn’t be fussed about missing out on the Spelling Bee.

‘Is Mrs Campbell bringing her sticky date cake?’ Aunt Evie asked, glancing over to Pumpkin, who was pushing Miss Pearl’s tin food plate around the yard.

Aunt Evie and I had made five ginger cakes and three batches of Anzacs to sell, and other students were also bringing along baked goods.

I nodded. All I needed to do was set up the sports hall to display my artwork, and Harry had to place all the cones for Red Rover. Then the Wombat Warrior fundraiser would be ready.

I could hardly believe it. We’d prepared it all in just over a week. If all went according to plan, we’d be early with the money for Mrs Campbell. I’d managed to draw twenty more sketches: ten of Miss Pearl, Fatticake and Willow, two of the Campbell’s collie dogs, three of Harry’s chickens, two of Pumpkin, and three of the lambs. Now I had to sell them.

Aunt Evie put down her cup to scratch Miss Pearl’s back as she rubbed up beside us. After hours of phone calls and discussions, Aunt Evie and her menagerie had finally found a new home. With plenty of land and an obsession with wombats, Dakota’s mum had offered Aunt Evie their one-bedroom granny flat. It was tiny, but its large fenced-off garden was perfect for Aunt Evie’s wombats and Pumpkin, too. It was a great solution, although I was secretly hoping that Mrs Campbell would change her mind and let them stay.

‘Any more pre-fundraiser art sales?’ Aunt Evie asked.

Mum and Dad had ordered three sketches and Dakota’s mum two. That was $185 already. Suddenly my artwork had become the most important thing I owned. ‘Well, I’m hoping Mrs Campbell likes the one of Harry,’ I said. ‘If she does, maybe I could charge her double?’

Aunt Evie tipped her head, her eyes twinkling. ‘I’m proud of you, Mouse. You really are proof of the saying “If life deals you lemons, make—”’

‘Lemonade,’ I blurted.

She smiled. ‘Yes, lemonade. Oh, watch out, here comes trouble.’

Pumpkin had finally abandoned the food plate and waddled over, pecking and quacking as he came. I reached out to pat his silky feathers as he plonked himself by my feet. I thought about what Aunt Evie had said. I was proud of me, too. I’d hardly said a word when I’d first arrived at Aunt Evie’s cottage, and now here I was, organising fundraisers and re-housing the local wildlife. Mum and Dad would hardly believe it when they came to pick me up.

‘Here they are!’ said Aunt Evie as Harry and Mrs Campbell pulled up in the ute. ‘We’ll go as soon as we’ve said a quick hello.’

‘Ready?’ said Harry, joining us at the steps, his eyes sparkling.

‘Yep! Ready! Here, this one’s for you,’ I said, passing him one of my sketches.

Harry’s eyebrows rose, and I held my breath as he looked at the picture. I’d drawn it especially for him: a portrait of his favourite wombat. Fatticake’s big flat nose, his brown eyes and his cheeky ears lit up the page. My heart swelled as Harry beamed.

‘Mouse is selling them,’ Harry explained to his mum, who was peering over his shoulder, ‘to help raise the money for the wombats.’

I exchanged looks with Aunt Evie as Mrs Campbell clucked her tongue.

‘And I suppose this one’s the most expensive?’ snapped Mrs Campbell.

I shook my head. ‘No. This one’s a gift,’ I said. ‘For Harry.’

Mrs Campbell narrowed her eyes.

‘I wouldn’t look this gift horse in the chin,’ said Aunt Evie. ‘When Mouse is a famous artist, that sketch will be worth a fortune.’

Mrs Campbell’s lips twitched, like she might even smile, and tiny dimples appeared in her cheeks. ‘Just as well,’ she muttered. ‘We’re going to need a fortune to run this ridiculous wombat hotel.’

I grabbed my sketches and grinned as Harry and I said goodbye to Mrs Campbell and climbed into Aunt Evie’s car.

‘Wombat Warriors, here we come.’