Bryony and Togget lay flat on their backs at the stern end of the raft, a jug of cowslip cordial and a deep-dish pear-and-red-currant tart between them.

The mousemaid dipped her paw overboard, allowing cool river water to caress it. “Hey ho, Togget, this is the life for us, eh!”

“Bo urr, et surpintly am, Broinee, oi never gurtly was one furr sailen, but this be’s most wunnerful, burr aye, so’t be.”

The hoglet Arundo was hiding behind the hut, watching them. The sight of Togget’s fat stomach sticking in the air was too much for him. Breaking cover, he dashed up and jumped on it. “Heehee! I jumped onna moleth thtomach!”

Togget was too winded to express an opinion on the subject, and Bryony was shaking with laughter along with Arundo. Tutty Pollspike was pegging out washing up for’ard; she had seen what took place and shouted dire warnings. “Rushes’n’riverbanks! Just let me catch either o’ you jumpin’ on that pore h’animal’s stummick agin an’ I’ll chop yore tails off, d’ye hear me, you two?”

Bryony sat up indignantly, pointing at Arundo. “But it wasn’t me, it was him!”

Arundo pointed back at her, still giggling. “Heeheehee! Mouthemaid tol’ me to do it!”

Duddle emerged from the cabin, stretching after his midmorning nap. “Now then, me bold beasties,” he said, “what’s all the kerfuffle out here? Still mindin’ the tiller for me, Togget?”

Remembering the duty he had been allotted, Togget got up and, rubbing his stomach, leaned against the tiller. “Aye, zurr, ee tiller ain’t been gone nowhere’s since oi been mindin’ et.”

Duddle took command of the tiller, saying, “Have to be careful on this stretch, there’s a slipstream off to the south comin’ up shortly. Rapids’n’waterfall down that way, dangerous, ’stremely perilous, mmm, ain’t that right, my little river lily?”

Tutty passed the washing basket to Clematis Roselea. “Rocks’a’rapids! We’d do well t’stay away from that lot. Keep tight ’old of that tiller, Duddle!”

“Never fear, my darlin’ damselfly,” the fat smiling hedgehog reassured her. “I have it within my vicelike grip, no harm will befall the family. Hmm, just a thought, Bryony, but d’you think yore friend the ferret may have drifted that way? He could very well have strayed into the slipstream, not bein’ used to the currents’n’flows.”

Bryony looked up from a piece of pie. “Do you think so, sir? If he did, how would we find out?”

Duddle indicated a spot on the left bank farther along. “That’s where the slipstream is, we’ll pull over an’ hove to land when we get past it. I’ll ask Ilfril, a mean-tempered creature if ever there was one—best let me do the talkin’.”

It was a difficult business keeping the raft in mid river while passing the slipstream. Bryony helped Duddle to control the tiller. When they were safe downriver from the side-pulling current, they hauled the raft onto the high bank, securing it to a crack willow with a stout rope. Duddle Pollspike led them back along the bank until they reached the slipstream. It flowed on a slight downhill gradient, very fast and smooth, losing itself as it twisted and turned into the distance, where a big green-sloped mountain stood out clear against the cloudless sky. Duddle tapped the side of his nose, cautioning them to be silent. Planting his bottom firmly on the edge of the bank, he dangled both footpaws in the water and spoke aloud as if to himself.

“Perfect day for a spot o’ fishin’!”

A squeaky, ill-tempered voice answered him. “Clear off! You’re not fishin’ on my stretch of river!”

The overhanging plants on the bank’s edge parted and a sour-faced bankvole clambered out and waved a knobbly stick at Duddle. “Hah! I should’ve known it’d be you, Pollspike. Now go on, shift yerself off my bank!”

Duddle grinned from ear to ear, teasing the bankvole. “Oh, cheer up, Ilfril, an’ give us a smile, you know I’m not fishin’. Come on, laugh, yore face won’t crack.”

The bankvole scowled and swiped at the reeds with his stick. “What d’you want around here, then?”

“Lookin’ for a ferret, friend o’ the mole’n’mousemaid yonder. Did he pass along this stretch perchance?”

Ilfril scratched his stubby chin thoughtfully, saying, “I don’t give information freely to trespassers, y’know.”

Tutty Pollspike produced a thick wedge of the pear-and-red-currant tart from beneath her apron. “Parsnips’n’periwinkles! We didn’t expect nothin’ for nothin’ off you, ole crabapple face. Take this, it’s more’n the likes o’ you deserves!”

Ilfril grabbed the slice of pie, his eyes darting hither and thither as if somebeast were trying to trick him. “Ferret, eh, saw ’im last night, late on, sittin’ astride a willow log. Dozy oaf! Fast asleep, didn’t ’ave the sense to rouse ’imself an’ keep to mid river. Shot off down the slipstream snorin’ like an ’edge’og. Huh! That un’ll get a rude awakenin’, I can tell yer!”

The bankvole clambered back into his den, dragging the pie slice with him, muttering and complaining. “Got what y’want, now make yerselves scarce an’ give a creature a bit o’ peace.”

Duddle placed a friendly paw on Bryony’s head. “So, there you have it, my little bankblossom, yore ferret has taken a turn for the worse. This is where our paths must part; I couldn’t risk life’n’limb takin’ my family down the slipstream, ’tis a wild an’ dangerous waterway. I wouldn’t advise any creature to follow it.”

Togget gazed at the swift-flowing water. “Hurr, nor wudd oi, zurr, but missie Broinee, she’m bounden to foller ee rascal, tho’ oi doan’t knows why.”

Tutty agreed wholeheartedly with the mole. “Fiddles’n’follies! After wot you’ve told me about that ferret I wouldn’t pass ’im the time o’ day nor a piece o’ pie. Why does an ’onest mousemaid like yoreself go chasin’ after such an evil vermin?”

Bryony gave the only answer she could. “Because I’m responsible for him. I’ve cared for Veil since he was a babe, and bad or good I cannot desert him.”

Tutty gave Bryony a careful embrace, as is the way with hedgehogs, overcome with admiration for the mousemaid. “Summers’n’strawberries! This earth’d be a better place if there were more like yer, missie!”

*   *   *

Veil was enjoying himself. It was early morn with the sun rising hot, and flickering light patterns danced on the fast current as the boughs of graceful alders from each bank formed a canopy over the stream. The young ferret ate some candied fruit and an oatfarl from the haversack, scooping up the clear rushing water in his paws to drink. Not knowing he had veered from the river, he leaned forward on the willow trunk, allowing the spray to wet his face. The stream was deep, smooth, and swift, and wherever he was bound it was better than plodding by paw. Sometimes he drew his knife and slashed through the green-shaded waters at passing fish, but they were far too quick for him. Veil was about to lie on his back and take a nap, when an unexpected turn in the stream course made him grab tight hold of his log.

The willow began to bump up and down on the widening stream, and he had to start fending off rocks that sprang up in his path. Leaving the shelter of the trees, the dashing water bounded through a high-walled gorge. The log struck an underwater ledge and bounced high, coming down with a juddering splash. Veil began to feel frightened. He clung grimly to his perch in the splayed fork of the willow trunk, thoroughly drenched and shivering from a combination of fear and cold water. Steering the log to the bank was out of the question; it bucked and rolled as it plunged headlong into a series of rapids. Blinded by the spray, Veil gripped the bark until his paws were numb, while the deafening noise of rushing water pounding in his ears drowned out his own screams. Blinking furiously, he made out a mist-clouded rainbow ahead, then the log struck a rock and turned sideways, slowly at first, then picking up speed on the boiling current until it was spinning around like a top. Then it turned over and Veil was in the water, screeching, yelling, and choking on icy mouthfuls. Clunk! The butt end of the willow trunk struck his head. Unaware of the unearthly roar and awesome drop, the senseless ferret hurtled over the cascading top of the waterfall.

*   *   *

Bryony and Togget stood, waving on the bank, a bulging haversack between them. Pulling out into mid river, the big untidy raft sailed off, its line of washing fluttering like stately banners. They shouted their good-byes to the Pollspike family, who were grouped around the tiller at the aft end of the flat craft.

“Thank you for everything, friends; fortune sail with you!”

“Goom-bye, zurr Duddle an ee famberly, thankee gurtly!”

The hedgehogs waved cheerily, returning the farewells.

“Seasons be good to you; we’ll meet again I hope!”

“Rocks’n’rivers! Of course we will, take good care of yoreselves, an’ give that ferret a kick from me!”

“Yeth, cut hith tail off with a thingle thwipe!”

The last thing they heard was young Clematis Roselea, as her father held her up high, singing aloud:

Togget waved at the receding raft, pausing to blink away a tear. “They’m vurry dear beasts, oi diddent moind ee liddle un a jumpen on moi stummick, hurr no!”

Making fair progress on the sloping stream bank, the two travelers strode easily along through lush grass and sheltering foliage toward the mountain, following the course of the stream. Before they left the trees at midday, Togget discovered blackberries, their stalks winding around a thick lavender clump. Dangling their footpaws into the water, Bryony and Togget sat on the bank, sharing a heap of the dark juicy berries. A flicker from the far bank caught Bryony’s eye; she saw a small bankvole watching them from the shelter of some overhanging ivy.

The mousemaid smiled and waved at the little creature. “Hello there, it’s very beautiful around here. Would you like some blackberries? Here you are!”

She threw the berries across the stream, and the bankvole quickly gathered them and stuffed his face greedily. He stood watching for more, his mouth and chin stained purple. Bryony threw him a few more and inquired after Veil. “Did you see a ferret pass this way on a log?”

Immediately the tiny creature began dancing up and down the bank, pointing animatedly and gibbering. “Yis yis! Ferret went down tharraway, right down ferret went! Yeeheehee! Ferret’ll go bumperty bump bump! Can’t stop down tharraway, ferret’ll go yaaaaargh! Right over top o’ th’big wateryfall! Yaaaaargh! Ferret’ll be smashed t’bits yeeheehee!”

Bryony stopped throwing the berries and stamped her footpaw on the bank, looking sternly at the grinning little bankvole. “Don’t say such awful things!”

This seemed to encourage the tiny creature; he leapt in the air, waving his paws wildly. “Ferret smashed inta likkle bits! Yeeheehee! Lotsa bits! ’Ead one place, paws anuther, fur everywhere, tail inna nundred bits. Smashed ferret! Yeeheeheehee!”

Bryony gathered the remainder of the blackberries huffily. “Come on, Togget, we’re leaving here. That impudent creature isn’t getting any more berries—we’re going!”

The little bankvole pursued them, shouting from the opposite side as he skipped and danced along. “All smashed inta ferrety bits! Yeeheehee! Belly smashed, dinner all over’a place, teeths everywhere, eyes smashed, eeyukka! Nose in bits, blood too, allover allover alloveraplace. Blood’s everywhere off smashed ferret! Yeeheeheehee!”

He continued in this manner until Togget put both digging claws into either side of his mouth, pulled his lips wide, and stuck out his tongue, making a grotesque face at the bankvole. Still jumping and skipping, the little bankvole returned the insult, squinching his nose and waggling his ears. Unfortunately, he did not look where he was going and went smack into an alder. Sitting flat on the ground, he nursed a bruised jaw and set up a fearful yowl. “Waaahaaah! ’Urted me face! Waaahaaahaaah!”

Bryony shook her head reprovingly at her molefriend. “Tut, tut, really, Togget, did you have to?”

“Hurr, hurr, at least et stopped ’im a goin’ on abowt bits o’ furret, missie, oi wurr beginnin’ t’feel quoit ill.”

When they reached the gorge top the afternoon grew hot, but as the sheer sides lessened, spray from the rapids hit the two friends like a welcome, cooling drizzle. Bryony looked at the wild rapid, foaming and leaping as they dashed downhill towards the mountains.

“Look at that water! No wonder Duddle said he wouldn’t dare take the raft down this way. It’s dreadful!”

Togget pointed ahead. “Yurr oi think et wursens yonder, ’ark at ee roaren et makes!”

A short distance farther on they saw the mist-shrouded rainbow, and the roar increased in volume until they had to shout aloud at each other to be heard above it.

Soaked and bewildered, they found a small cavelike crevice to one side of the waterfall’s edge. Crouching inside, Togget dug out a turnip-and-watercress flan, and they shared it, together with a flask of cowslip cordial. They peered in fascination at the colossal torrent, falling so far down that it was lost in an almost solid white spray of mist.

“Whurr do et all go to, miz Broinee?”

“I’m not certain, Togget, but I think it must fall into some big lake below and stream off into the mountains.”

Bryony suddenly realized how close to the mountains they were; the falls seemed to drop into their very side. “Well, I’ll have to figure out a way to get down there to the bottom of this waterfall. If Veil was here, he couldn’t avoid going over. What an awful thing to happen to anybeast, Togget.”

“Hurr aye, missie, oi knows ’tis ’ard, but us doan’t ’spect to foind maister Veil still aloive, do us?”

Bryony clasped the mole’s paw earnestly. “You don’t have to go down there, Togget. I won’t have you risking your life to find Veil.”

The good mole’s face was earnest as he replied, “Oi doan’t go, then you’m b’ain’t goen. Oi cummed this furr with ee, Broinee, burr, an’ oi b’ain’t aven ee riskin’ yore young loif furr ee wuthless vurmin alone, no zurr!”

*   *   *

It was evening before they were ready to descend the slippery rocks. The two friends were ill equipped for their task; after an exhaustive search of the area, all they came up with was a few short lengths of vine. Using their belts and the haversack sling, they knotted them all together. Bryony fastened one end to Togget’s waist and the other round her own, and wordlessly they set off down the slick, water-worn rock face, with the deafening din of the torrent ringing in their ears. Bryony went first, Togget taking the strain as she scrabbled and slid to a smooth ledge. She waited until he had scrambled down beside her before taking a look around.

There seemed no way off the ledge, except for a series of rocky protuberances on one side, half covered by the falling water. Carefully the mousemaid lowered herself to the first one, feeling Togget slip slightly as he was pulled by the tension on their lifeline. He waved a digging claw to show he was all right, and she began the descent to the next. Suddenly a chunk of driftwood hurtling past on the waterfall struck Bryony, and she slipped, but managed to grab on to a spur. Battered by the falls and fighting for breath, she hung on tight, barely able to hear her molefriend above the pounding cascade.

“Oi’m cummen, missie, ’old on!”

As Togget climbed down to her, he edged too near the waterfall; it caught him and swept him away like a leaf in a gale. A split second later, Bryony screamed as the improvised rope tautened like a bowstring and catapulted her off the spur after him. Bound together, both mole and mousemaid were carried off by the raging waterfall.