A Wool Mouse in the Ink

The steady autumn rain tapped against the thick bark of the great oak outside. Inside the secret room, everything felt snug and warm. Pip stood near the archway, his yellow neck-wrap tucked tight under his chin. He and Clover leaned close to the corner bookshelf. They were looking at the blue thread of wool caught deep between two heavy planks of wood.

"It is stuck fast," Clover whispered, twitching her ears. "It won't budge at all."

Saffron sat nearby on her soft green moss cushion. Her brown fur was neat and dry now, and her cloak rested across her lap. She tilted her head as she watched the bright blue string dangle down from the dark shelf. It looked very inviting. Without thinking, she reached out one neat brown paw. She gave the dangling yarn a playful little tug.

There was a soft, muffled pop.

A tiny creature made of blue felt slipped free from the shadow. It fell through the air, hit the wooden boards, and bounced along like an acorn rolling down a hill. It rolled right past the low table, straight toward Barnaby and Bramble.

Barnaby had been watching Bramble roll a round wooden die across a scrap of cloth. The little gold-dusted mouse did not expect anything to come flying out of the dark. The felt mouse took one last high bounce and landed squarely into Barnaby’s open paws.

Barnaby gave a wild squeak of fright. His long tail gave an involuntary twitch, and his feet scrambled against the floor. As he jumped backward, his elbow clipped the rim of a small ceramic jar sitting on the edge of the writing desk. The jar wobbled. Then it tipped right over.

A thick wave of dark purple elderberry ink splashed across the wooden boards. The dice game stopped at once. Bramble pulled his paws back with a startled gasp as the purple puddle spread between them like a wide autumn leaf.

"Oh, my whiskers!" Barnaby cried, holding the blue felt toy against his chest. "Look at the mess! It is running toward the rug!"

Clover did not hesitate. She dashed straight to the tea basket beside the wall and grabbed a spare linen napkin. In a flash, she was on her knees by the desk. She pressed the cloth against the dark edge of the puddle, dabbing quickly before the stain could sink into the dry wood.

"Keep calm, Barnaby," Clover said with a quiet smile, soaking up the purple drips. "Elderberry ink washes out if you catch it fast. See? The wood underneath is still clean."

Barnaby let out a long sigh of relief. He looked down at what had startled him so badly. In his paws sat a tiny mouse made of neatly looped wool. It had two little knotted ears and a long tail tied off in a tidy knot. He handed it carefully to Pip.

Pip lifted the little wool mouse up to the warm light that glowed from the amber threshold. He turned it over in his paws. The stitches were small and careful, wound round and round with great skill. Along the tummy of the felt mouse, three little stitches were made of silver thread instead of blue. They looked like three little footprints, just like the marks on the root-tunnel map.