Young Fredle - Louise Yates [64]
Home was warm with the bodies of sleeping mice. As if he were only coming back late from a foraging expedition and his arrival was not worth waking up for, the various bodies shifted around to allow him to take his usual place next to Kidle, where he fell immediately into a deep, restful sleep.
19
Home
Fredle opened his eyes to see Kidle staring down at him in happy surprise.
“Where’d you come from? Father! It’s Fredle! Mother? Grandfather? It’s Fredle! He’s come back!”
Fredle stood up, feeling a little foolish and very proud. They were all looking at him, absolutely amazed, all the remembered faces plus several new and unknown ones.
“There’s no need to shriek, Kidle,” said Father, and then Mother said, “It can’t be,” and Father asked cautiously, “Fredle?” as if unable to believe his own eyes and nose.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Grandfather said.
They crowded close around him, touching him with their cool, pointed noses.
“Woo-Hah,” Fredle laughed, out of sheer happiness.
“What did he say?” Mother asked Father.
“That didn’t sound like our Fredle,” said Father.
“What if it’s not? What if it’s a danger to the mouselets?”
“It is me, Mother,” said Fredle. “It really is.”
“You look different,” she complained.
“No he doesn’t,” Kidle disagreed.
“Grown-up,” Grandfather diagnosed. “Like Axle.”
Axle? It seemed that Fredle’s perfect happiness could grow more perfect. Was that possible? “Axle?” he asked.
“She came back a couple of nights after—” Father stopped. Then he said, “All right, everyone. Everyone awake? It’s time.”
“Doddle isn’t ready,” said Mother. “He’s just a mouselet and I don’t like to leave him alone. It’s just sleepiness, I’m sure he’s not sick, but—”
“If a mouselet can’t forage, we have to push him out,” said Father.
“Besides,” said Landle, one of Fredle’s many brothers, “you’ve been saying there are already too many of us. And now there’s Fredle, too.”
“I could bring back something for Doddle,” Fredle offered. “For him and for you, Mother.”
“Mice don’t do that,” Father said.
“I know, but why don’t we?” Fredle asked.
“You haven’t been back one night and already you’re starting with the questions,” said Father.
Grandfather was more patient. “You know we don’t eat in our nests, young Fredle. Besides, you don’t want to begin carrying food around for other mice. Trust me, I know. That kind of thing leads to nothing but trouble.”
“How?” asked Fredle. If Grandfather knew something dangerous that happened as a result of helping out another mouse, Fredle thought he wanted to know what that was. “How do you know?”
“It’s Fredle for sure,” said Father gloomily. “All right, everybody. We can talk later, but right now we have foraging to do. Everybody in place if you plan to eat tonight.”
Fredle wanted to ask about Axle, but now he was remembering how the evenings were always arranged. Forage first, and then, after, if there was the chance, you could talk. He wondered if he really could hope that Axle, too, had been able to escape the worst consequences of eating chocolate. He wondered if she knew it was called chocolate. He thought she would be impressed by everything that had happened to him and would want to hear all about all of it. She used to be the one telling her adventures and now he had adventures of his own to tell her.
Following Father’s quiet progress down to the pantry floor entryway, he got close enough to Grandfather to whisper, “Is Axle really and truly alive?”
“Of course. She’s young and strong. I’m the one you should be surprised to find still here.”
That was good enough for Fredle, for the time being. He could wait to hear the details. He was content to be back in his usual place between Grandfather and Kidle, one of a line of mice creeping out into the kitchen to forage. Being home, with familiar mice all around him, familiar boards under his feet and the familiar dim light all around, knowing where he would look for food and what he might find, knowing that somewhere ahead in the night kitchen