Young Fredle - Louise Yates [14]
Fredle didn’t need to ask him about talons. He could imagine.
“And they screech.” Bardo waited. There was a long silence as they stared at one another. Then, “That nest of yours,” Bardo said. “It’s just a hole in the ground.”
“You mean, in the floor?”
“I mean in the ground, soil, dirt. I thought you house mice liked things comfortable, but you haven’t even lined that hole in the ground with grass.”
“So what if I like things comfortable?”
“I’m just telling you you’d better bring in some grass before it dries out in the sun and gets stiff, or gets rained on and starts to rot. That’s my advice. Or you could hightail it back up the steps to the porch, ha-ha.”
There were so many new words, Fredle didn’t even know which ones were important to ask the meanings of. “Porch? Steps? Sun?”
“Don’t you know anything?” Bardo laughed. “The porch is what you came down from, down the steps. I saw. Missus was carrying you.”
“I didn’t see you. Where were you?”
“I happened to be in the area. I’ll tell you, Fredle, I didn’t have much hope for you. I’ve never seen a mouse look so gray.”
“All house mice are gray,” Fredle told him. Now he went over to an opening. What had Bardo been looking for, or looking at, out there?
“I know that, but you looked grayer.”
“Are all of you field mice that brown color?”
“If we weren’t, we’d be easy pickings at night,” Bardo told him.
Finally there was something Fredle knew about. “But night’s the safe time for foraging,” he explained.
“You’re talking about inside, where the living is easy,” Bardo answered. He was a restless creature, uneasy, and he had begun pacing back and forth between the lattice and Fredle. “You don’t know anything about real life, you house mice. Food is left out for you, inside, all you have to do is pick it up and eat. I’ve heard the stories. I know.”
“There is a cat,” Fredle pointed out.
“An indoor cat,” said Bardo, scornfully. “Until you’ve gone up against the barn cats, you don’t know anything about how bad a cat can be. Those barn cats take on rats.”
Fredle had heard about rats, which were giant mice, smart and strong, with a reputation for being vicious.
“Field mice are entirely different from you house mice,” Bardo said. “That’s why we’re different colors, to show how different we are.”
Fredle had always thought a mouse was a mouse, and that all mice were pretty much alike. In his experience, all mice needed food and a home and the company of other mice. Now he wondered if Bardo knew something he didn’t. He went up close to the field mouse to ask, “In what ways? How are we different?”
They were talking nose to nose, while around them the light faded. “I have to go,” Bardo announced. “I’ll come back and I’ll bring more food when I do, so you stay right here. I’m your go-between.”
“Go-between between me and who?” Fredle asked, to delay the time when he would be alone again. “Between me and what?”
Bardo was already out beyond the lattice, but he stuck his head back through the opening to advise Fredle, “You should go get yourself some of that new-cut grass. It’ll make a softer nest than dirt.” And he was gone.
Fredle took a thoughtful bite of the orange peel, chewed at it, swallowed, and took another bite. He decided to take Bardo’s advice about bringing in some grass. It would be hard work, but it would be good to have a soft place to sleep; it would almost be a nest, it would be almost like home. First he would eat, then he’d go out through the lattice, waiting until the air was dark and those bright things would shine, and be beautiful to see.
Those bright things being beautiful made Fredle feel less lonely. Not being hungry helped, too.
* * *
The next time Bardo appeared, it was day. “Rise and shine,” Bardo said, his nose right up against Fredle’s ear. “Rise and forage.”
Fredle startled awake. “What? Who? Bardo?”
“Accustomed to a long day of unbroken slumber, are we? You’ll learn better. You’re outside now, Fredle.”
“What do you want?”
Bardo hadn’t brought the promised food, and besides, Fredle