The children were beside the stream and did not hear the General’s grenade going off. But when they looked around a few moments later, they saw the flames dancing from the campfire.
They were astonished, for fires don’t light themselves. They had only been away from the camp for a few minutes, and they could see all the way across the meadow, so they would have spotted someone coming.
“Come on,” Arthur said, running back to the tent. “Let’s look in the grass. If anyone’s been here they’ll have left tracks.” But though they searched all around the camp, they could find only the tracks they had made themselves, going back and forth to the stream.
Lucy was frightened, for it was odd to think of someone creeping up and lighting the fire, then vanishing without a trace. But she had an even bigger surprise when she noticed that the cans had been opened.
“That’s really spooky,” Arthur said, examining them very carefully. “They haven’t been opened with a can opener.”
“Then how have they been opened?” Lucy asked nervously. She could feel herself shiver. It was not yet dark, but the camp had become eerie. She felt a sudden urge to run back to the cottage—and yet somehow her legs wouldn’t carry her.
But then Arthur said something that made everything much better: “It must have been Nutmeg.”
Lucy felt her breath come back again. Of course it was her! For who else could it have been? She must have followed them from the cottage, and when she saw that they couldn’t light the fire and that they didn’t have a can opener she must have crept up and put everything right.
“It would be just like her,” Arthur said.
“But how could she have opened the cans?” Lucy asked. “I mean—well, she’s very small, isn’t she?”
The children had never set eyes on Nutmeg, and they did not know that she was a mouse. In her letters to them, she had called herself a fairy, so that’s what they thought she was. And they knew how tiny she must be, for they had found a pair of her slippers in the dollhouse, and each was no bigger than a ladybug.
“Oh, she’d have found a way,” Arthur replied confidently. “Think of all the things she’s done in Rose Cottage—sealing windows, and lighting boilers, and unblocking sinks. Opening a can of macaroni and cheese must have been easy compared to all that.”
“Where do you think she is now, then?” Lucy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Arthur shrugged. “I suppose she’s hiding in the grass somewhere.”
“Goodness,” Lucy said. “And there we were, thinking it must have been a ghost or something.”
“You might have thought so, but I don’t believe in ghosts,” Arthur said grandly.
“Oh, all right, I know,” Lucy replied. She was feeling much too relieved to argue about who believed in what. “Come on, now the fire’s lit we might as well have supper. I’m starving.”
The two children hurriedly set about preparing their food, for they had eaten nothing since lunch. But supper did not take long to prepare. They poked the fire with a stick, making a flat patch to cook on. Then they fried the sausages and eggs in oil and heated the macaroni and cheese in a saucepan. Everything got a bit burned. But when you are sitting by a campfire watching the sun sink over a meadow, even burned food doesn’t taste too bad.
As night gathered, the stream started to fill with black shadows. But when they looked back across the meadow the children could still see Rose Cottage, silhouetted against the darkening sky. Presently a dim gleam appeared in the downstairs window as their father turned on the kitchen light. Suddenly Lucy wished she was back in her comfortable attic bed.
“Let’s wash up in the morning. It’s too dark now,” she said when they had finished supper. And Arthur agreed, for he had also noticed how black the stream had become. It would be much too frightening to wash up in it now.
“We might as well go to bed, seeing as it’s getting dark,” he said.
“All right. But remember the tent’s too small for two— you’re sleeping on the grass,” Lucy said teasingly. Arthur’s face fell. “Oh, come on,” she laughed, “We can both squeeze inside.”
The Nutmouses and the General, who were still finishing their enormous dinner, watched as Arthur and Lucy crawled into the tent. Arthur had turned his flashlight on and they could see the children illuminated through the canvas. It was clearly a terrible squish.
“Another sliver, anyone?” Nutmeg asked, offering around the cheese board.
“Not for me, dear,” replied Tumtum, who had eaten the lion’s share of the pie—and half the apple tart. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to turn in. All this fresh air has gone to my head. And hadn’t you better be getting home, General? Mrs. Marchmouse must be getting worried about you.”
“Oh, poppycock! Mrs. Marchmouse knows better than to worry about me,” the General replied breezily. “‘If I’m not home by bedtime, just leave the door on the latch,’ I said. So you see, Nutmouse, I am a free mouse tonight! And I intend to camp out here, with you!”
Tumtum and Nutmeg looked taken aback. You have to be very fond of a mouse to let him share your tent. And fond as they were of General Marchmouse, they weren’t as fond of him as all that.
“I’m afraid you would find it rather uncomfortable, General. Our tent is only equipped for two,” Tumtum said tactfully.
“Oh, fiddlesticks! I’m not going to sleep in that,” the General replied. He stood up and pointed toward Arthur’s toy boat, Bluebottle, which was standing beside the children’s tent. “I shall sleep in there!”
“Don’t be a fool, General,” Tumtum said. “Imagine if Arthur finds you on board. He might take you prisoner again!”
Not so long ago, the children had found the General exploring their dollhouse, and there had been terrible consequences. For they had put him in a biscuit tin, then taken him to their school and rehoused him in a cage full of pet gerbils. The children had thought the General would be happy there, but in fact he had been miserable. And if the Nutmouses hadn’t rounded up a troupe of daredevil ballerinas to rescue him, he would never have escaped.
You might have thought the General would have learned his lesson. But the sight of Bluebottle had thrown him. Unbeknownst to the Nutmouses, he had been dreaming about her all through supper. In his mind’s eye, he could see himself as Bluebottle’s Captain, coursing down the stream and harpooning salmon from the deck.
The little blue boat had stirred a fierce longing in his heart. He had to spend the night on board.
“Do stop fussing, Nutmouse,” he said, slinging his kit bag onto his shoulder. “I won’t let Arthur find me. I just want somewhere to lay my head until dawn.”
Then the General was gone.
“Well if he wants to go, we can’t stop him,” Nutmeg said as they watched him disappear through the grass. “Anyway, I can’t see he’ll come to much harm if he sleeps on Bluebottle tonight. We’ll just have to make sure he disembarks before the children wake up.”
“Hmmm. I suppose so,” Tumtum said. He couldn’t face running after him now, for he was too tired for an argument. But the thought of the General strutting about on Arthur’s boat made Tumtum very uneasy.
While the Nutmouses retired to their tent, General Marchmouse stole on board. He climbed up Bluebottle’s finely crafted rigging and dropped down onto the moonlit deck, rubbing his paws with glee at the sight of the toy cannon, the crow’s-nest, and the shiny wooden steering wheel. It was a proper old-fashioned war vessel—and he was in command!
With a trembling heart, he took out his flashlight and crept down the narrow stairs leading below deck. And here lay more delights—a storeroom full of plastic cannonballs, and a tin soldier, and a master cabin with a bed and dressing table and dresser. Everything was mouse-sized.
The General sat down at the dressing table and preened his whiskers in the mirror, thinking what a handsome Captain he would make. Then he closed his eyes and started to dream. He fancied he could hear the spray lashing his cabin window and the waves crashing on the deck. Oh, what adventures he could have if only he were out on the open water, instead of being stuck here in the grass!
It was all very frustrating. But then an idea came to him. It was a simple idea, but none the worse for that. Instead of creeping out of the boat first thing in the morning, before the children woke up, he would simply stay on board.
Arthur will never notice me, so long as I keep below deck, he thought. I’ll hide under the bed while he carries the boat down to the stream. Then as soon as he’s launched her in the water, I shall rush upstairs, tighten the sails, grab the wheel, and sail away as fast as the flow will carry me. I shall take the ship. And phooey to anyone who tries to stop me!
Delighted with his plan, the General stretched out on the Captain’s bed and drifted off to sleep.