2?

Entering the largest of the conifer groves, they headed for a telltale spiral of smoke that denoted Camp Tussock. It was a rambling stockade, the outer walls fashioned from tree trunks with a big dwelling house built of rock, timber, moss, and mud chinking. This was known as the Barracks. Motes, squirrels, hedgehogs, and a few wood mice wandered in and out of the homely place, living there by kind permission of the Colonel and his wife, Mem Divinia. Some of them shook their heads and tuttutted at the sight of Tammo being led in to answer for his latest escapade.

Seated close to the fire in his armchair, Colonel Cornspurrey De Fformelo Tussock was a formidable sight. He was immaculately attired in a buff-colored campaign jacket covered with rows of jangling medals, his heavy-jowled face shadowed by the peak of a brown-bark forage helmet. The Colonel had one eye permanently closed, while the other glared through a monocle of polished crystal with a silken cord dangling from it. His wattled throat wobbled pendulously as he jabbed his pace stick pointedly at the miscreant standing before him.

“Wot wot, stap me whiskers, if it aint the bold Tammo. Now then, laddie buck, whatve ygot to say for yself, eh? Speak up, sah!

Tammo remained silent, staring at the floor as if to find inspiration there. Grunting laboriously, the Colonel leaned forward, lifting Tammos chin with the pace stick until they were eye to eye.

“S matter, sah, frogs got ytongue? Cmon now, speak ypiece, somethin about me battle-ax, wot wot?

Tammo did what was expected of him and came smartly to attention. Chin up, chest out, he gazed fixedly at a point above his fathers head and barked out in true military fashion: “Colonel, sah! Pologies about ybaltle-ax, only used it to play with. Promise upon me honor, wont do it again. Sah!

The old hares great head quivered with furious disbelief, and the monocle fell from his eye to dangle upon its string. He lifted the pace stick, and for a moment it looked as though he were about to strike his son. When the colonel could find it, his voice rose several octaves to shrill indignation.

“Playin? Youve got the brass nerve tstand there an tell me youve been usin my battle-ax as a toy! Outrage, sir, outrage! Yre a pollywoggle and a ripscutt! Hah, thats it, a scruff-furred, lollop-eared, blather-pawed, doodle-tailed, jumped-up-never-tcome-down bogwhumper! What are yen?

Tammos mother, Mem Divinia, had been hovering in the background, tending a batch of barleyscones on the griddle. Wiping floury paws upon an apron corner, she bustled forward, placing herself firmly between husband and son.

“Thats quite enough o that, Corney Fformelo, Ill not have language like that under my roof. Where dyou think yare, in the middle of a battlefield? I wont have you roaring at my Tammo in such a manner.

Instead of calming the Colonels wrath, his wifes remarks had the opposite effect. Suffused with blood, his ears went bright pink and stood up like spearpoints. He flung down the pace stick and stamped so hard upon it that he hurt his foot-paw.

“Eulalianbloodnfurnvinegar, marm!

Mem countered by drawing herself up regally as she grabbed Tammos head and buried it in the floury folds of her apron. “Keep yvoice down, sir, no sense in settin a bad example to your son an makin yourself ill over some battle-ax!

The Colonel knew better than to ignore his wife. Rubbing ruefully at his footpaw, he retrieved the pace stick. Then, fixing his monocle straight, he sat upright, struggling to moderate his tone.

“Some battle-ax indeed, mdear! Im discussin one particular weapon. My battle-ax! This battle-ax! Dyknow, that young rip took a chip out o the blade, probly hackin away at some boulder. A chip off my blade, marm! The same battle-ax that was the pride of the old Fifty-first Pawnfur Platoon of the Long Patrol. Twas a blade that separated Searats from their gizzardsn garters, flayed ferrets out o their fur, whacked weasels, an shortened stoats into stumps! An who was it chipped the blade? That layabout of a leveret, thats who. Hmph!

Tammo struggled free of Mems apron, his face thickened with white flour dust. He sneezed twice before speaking. “I aint a leveret any longer, sir. If ylet me join the jolly ol

Long Patrol, then I wouldnt have tget up to all sorts o mischief, specially with your ax, sah.

The Colonel sighed and shook his head, the monocle falling to one side as he settled back wearily into his armchair. “Ive told you a hundred times, mladdo, youre far too young, too wildnwayward, not got the seasons under ybelt yet. You speak to him, Mem, mdear, the rogues got me worn out. Join the Long Patrol indeed. Hmph! No self-respectin Badger Lord would tolerate a green bhind the ears little pestilence like you, laddie buck. Run along an play now, youve given me enough gray fur, go an bother some otherbeast. Be off, youre dismissed, sah. Matter closed!

Tammo saluted smartly and hurried off, blinking back unshed tears at his fathers brusque command. Mem took the pace stick from her husbands lap and slapped it down hard into his paw.

“Shame on you, Cornspurrey, she cried, “youre nought but a heartless old bodger. How could ytalk to your own son like that?

The Colonel replaced his monocle and squinted challeng-ingly. “Bodger yself, marm! Id give me permission for Lynum or Saithe tjoin up with the Long Patrol, theyre both of a right age. Stap me, though, neither of ems interested, both want tbe bally soil-pawed farmbeasts, I think. He smiled slightly and stroked his curled mustache. “Young Tammo, now, theres a wild un, full of firenvinegar like I was in me green seasons. Hah! Hell grow tbe a dangerous an perilous beast one day, mark mwords, Mem!

Mem Divinia spoke up on Tammos behalf: “Then why not let him join up? You know tis all hes wanted since he was a babe listenin to your tales around the fire. Poor Tammo, he lives, eats, an breathes Long Patrol. Let him go, Corney, give him his chance.

But the Colonel was resolute; he never went back on a decision. “Tammos far too young by half. Said all Im goin tsay, mdear. Matter closed!

Popping out his monocle with a wink, Comspurrey De Fformelo Tussock settled back into the armchair and closed his good eye, indicating that this was his prelunch naptime. Mem Divinia knew further talk was pointless. She sighed wearily and went back to her friend Osmunda the molewife, who was assisting with the cooking.

Osmunda shook her head knowingly, muttering away in the curious molespeech, “Burr aye, youm roight, Mem, ee be nought but an ole bodger. Oi wuddent be surproised if n mais-ter Tamm upn runned a ways one mom. Hurr hurt, ee faither cant stop Tamm furrever.

Mem added sprigs of young mint to the golden crust of a carrot, mushroom, and onion hotpot she had taken from the oven. “Thats true, Osmunda, Tammo will run away, same as his father did at his age. He was a wayward one too, yknow. His father never forgave him for running away, called him a deserter and never spoke his name againbut I think he was secretly very proud of Comspurrey and the reputation he gained as a fighting hare with the Long Patrol. He died long before his son retired from service and brought me back here to Camp Tussock. I was always very sorry that they were never reconciled. I hope the Colonel isnt as stubborn as his father, for Tammos sake.

Osmunda was spooning honey into the scooped-out tops of the hot barley scones. She blinked curiously at Mem. “Whoi do ee say that?

Mem Divinia began mixing a batter of greensap milk, ha-zelnut, and almond flour to make pancakes. She kept her eyes on the mix as she explained: “Because Im going to help Tammo to run away and join the Long Patrol. If I dont hell only hang around here gettin into trouble an arguin with his father until they become enemies. Now dont mention what Ive just said to anybeast, Osmunda.

The faithful mole wifes friendly face crinkled into a deep grin. “Moi snout be sealed, Mem! Ee be a doin the roight thing, oi knows et, even tho ee Colonel wont ave is temper improved boi et an youll miss maister Tamm gurtly.

A tear fell into the pancake mix. Tammos mother wiped her eyes hastily on her apron hem. “Oh, Ill miss the rascal, all right, never you fear, Osmunda. But Tammo will do well away from here. Hes got a good heart, hes not short of courage, and, like the Colonel said, hell grow to be a wild an perilous beast. What more could any creature say of a hare? One day my son will make us proud of him!