Moominsummer Madness (8 page)

In the mist, or in the house, a small bell was tinkling. Then all became silent - then the jingle came again. But there was no smoke from the chimney, and the window was dark.

*

While all this happened, the morning aboard the floating house had been a most miserable one. Moominmamma declined to eat. She sat in the rocking-chair, repeating over and over: 'Poor little children, my poor dear little Moomin child! All alone in a tree! He'll never find his way home

again. Just think when night comes and the owls begin to screech!'

'They won't do that until August,' Whomper comforted her.

'Well, anyway,' said Moominmamma, weeping still. 'There's always something or other screeching.'

Moominpappa stared sadly at the hole in the pantry roof. 'It's all my fault,' he said.

'You mustn't say that,' said Moominmamma. 'Your stick must have been old and rotten and whoever could know that? And I'm quite sure they'll find their way back again soon. I really am!'

'If they aren't eaten up,' said Little My. 'If the ants haven't bitten them so they're bigger than oranges already.'

'Run along and play now, or you'll get no dessert,' said the Mymble's daughter.

Misabel changed into a black dress. She sat down in a corner and had a good cry all by herself.

'Are you really taking it so hard?' asked Whomper sympathetically.

'No, just a little less,' replied Misabel. 'But I'm taking the chance to have a cry over a lot of things now when there's a good reason.'

'Oh, yes,' replied Whomper without quite understanding.

He tried to figure out the cause of the accident. He examined the hole in the pantry roof and all of the drawing-room floor. The only thing he found was a trap-door under the carpet. It opened straight down on the black, lapping water under the house. Whomper was very interested.

'Perhaps that's a kind of dust-chute,' he said. 'Or a

swimming-pool. If it isn't for throwing one's enemies in?'

But nobody else took any interest in his trap-door. Only Little My laid herself on her stomach to look down into the water. 'I suppose it's for enemies,' she said. 'A splendid trap-door for big and small villains!'

She lay there all day looking for villains, but she unfortunately didn't find any.

*

No one reproached Whomper afterwards.

It happened just before dinner.

Emma hadn't turned up at all during the day and didn't even show herself at dinner-time.

'Perhaps she's ill,' said Moominmamma. 'Not she!' said the Mymble's daughter. 'She's only pinched enough sugar now so she can
live
on it.'

'Dear, run along and look to see if she's all right,' Moominmamma said tiredly.

The Mymble's daughter went over to Emma's corner and asked: 'Moominmamma's compliments, and have you got a stomach-ache from all the sugar?'

Emma's whiskers bristled. But before she found a suitable reply the whole house rattled with a tremendous shock and leaned dangerously over.

Whomper came scuttling along the floor in an avalanche of dinner china and most of the pictures fluttered down from the ceiling, burying the drawing-room.

'We've run aground!' cried Moominpappa, half stifled beneath the velvet curtains.

'My!' shouted the Mymble's daughter. 'Where's my sister?'

But Little My couldn't have told her even if she had wanted to do it, for once. She had rolled straight through the trap-door, down in to the black water.

Suddenly a horrible chuckle filled the drawing-room. It was Emma's bitter laugh.

'Ha, ha!' she laughed. 'There you are now! That'll teach you not to whistle on the stage!'

CHAPTER 6
About revenge on Park Keepers

IF
Little My had been only slightly bigger, who knows if she wouldn't have drowned. Now she bobbed light as a bubble through the whirls of water and, snorting and spitting, popped her head above surface again. She floated like a cork, and was swiftly carried away by the current.

'This is fun,' said Little My to herself. 'My sister's going to wonder.' She looked around her and discovered Moominmamma's cake-tin and work-basket afloat quite near. After some hesitation (because she knew there were still a few cakes left) she chose the work-basket and clambered aboard it.

She had a nice long time examining everything in it and cutting up a couple of skeins. Then she curled up in the angora wool and went to sleep.

The work-basket sailed on. The house had gone aground in the middle of an inlet, and now the basket drifted shorewards, where, in among the reeds, it finally stopped in the mud. This didn't wake Little My who had always been a sound sleeper. She didn't awake at first even when a fishing-hook came flying and caught in the work-basket. There was a jerk when the line tightened and was slowly pulled home.

Dear reader, prepare for a surprise. Chance and coincidence are strange things. Without knowing anything of each other and each other's business the Moomin family and Snufkin had happened to arrive at the same little inlet on Midsummer Eve. It was Snufkin himself in his old green hat who now stood on the shore and stared at the work-basket he had caught.

'By my hat, if it isn't a small Mymble,' he said and took the pipe from his mouth. He then poked at Little My with the crochet hook and said kindly: 'Don't be afraid!'

'I'm not even afraid of ants,' replied Little My and sat up.

They looked at each other.

The last time they had met Little My had been so small as to be nearly invisible, so it wasn't very strange that they didn't recognize each other now.

'Well, well, dear child,' remarked Snufkin and scratched his head.

'Well, yourself, with knobs on,' said Little My.

Snufkin sighed. He was here on important business, and he had really hoped to be alone for a few days more before returning to the Moomin Valley for the summer. And then some careless Mymble went and put her child to sea in a work-basket. Just for the fun of it.

'Where's mother?' he asked.

'Somebody ate her,' replied Little My untruthfully. 'Have you any food?'

Snufkin pointed with his pipe-stem. A small kettle of peas was simmering over his camp-fire nearby. Beside it stood another with hot coffee.

'But I suppose milk's what you drink,' he said.

Little My gave a contemptuous laugh. She did not bat an eyelid as she swallowed two brimming teaspoonfuls of coffee and ate no less than four peas.

Then Snufkin carefully extinguished his camp-fire with water and remarked: 'Well?'

'Now I want to sleep some more,' said Little My. 'I always sleep best in pockets.'

'Quite,' said Snufkin and pocketed her. 'The main thing in life is to know your own mind.' He tucked in the angora wool after her.

Then Snufkin continued his way across the meadows by the shore.

The great flood-wave had never reached as far as the inlet. Here summer was as it had always been. Nothing was known about the volcanic eruption, even if Snufkin often had wondered at the splendidly red sunsets, and the ashes drifting with the wind, of late. He knew nothing at all about the things that had happened to his friends in the Moomin Valley, and he supposed that they had at this moment gathered on their verandah for the usual quiet Midsummer celebration.

He had thought sometimes of Moomintroll, who was probably waiting for him to return. But first he had to settle his account with the Park Keeper. And that could be done only on Midsummer Eve.

Tomorrow all would be over.

Snufkin produced his mouth organ and began to play his and Moomintroll's old song, 'All small beasts should have bows in their tails'.

Little My awoke at once and put out her head.

'I know that one,' she cried. And then she sang in her shrill and gnat-like voice:

All small beasts should have bows in their tails

Because now the Hemulens are closing the jails:

Whomper'll dance to the moon and rejoice.

Blow your nose, little Misabel, and laugh at the noise!

Look at the tulips, how happy and bright

They're shining in morning's wonderful light!

Slowly, oh, slowly a heavenly night

Is fading away like an echoing voice!

'Wherever can you have heard that one?' Snufkin asked in some surprise. 'You sang it nearly right. You're a strange child.'

'You're dead right there, pal,' said Little My. 'And I've got a secret, too.'

'A secret?'

'You bet, a secret. About a thunderstorm that isn't a thunderstorm and a drawing-room that turns about. But I won't tell you more than that!'

'I've got a secret, too,' said Snufkin. 'In my knapsack. I'll show it to you after a while. Because I'm going to settle an old account I have with a villain!'

'Big or small?' asked Little My.

'Small,' said Snufkin.

'That's good,' said Little My. 'Small villains are much better. They break more easily.'

She crawled happily down to her angora wool again, and Snufkin continued his walk. He had arrived at a long fence. It was hung with notices at regular intervals:

ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE

The Park Keeper and the Park Wardress lived together, in the park, of course. They had cut and sheared every single one of the trees into round blobs and square cubes, and all the gravel paths were straight as pointers. As soon as any leaf of grass dared to come up it was cut off and had to start struggling over again.

The lawns were fenced in on all sides, and the fences were hung with notices telling in big black letters that something or other was not allowed.

Into this horrible park came every day twenty-four small subdued children who had for some reason become forgotten or lost. They were furry woodies who liked the park as little as the sand-box where they were told to play. What they wanted was to climb trees, stand on their heads, run across the lawns...

Neither the Park Keeper nor the Park Wardress could understand this. They sat watching the woodies, one on each side of the sand-box. What could the little children do?

*

To this park came Snufkin with Little My in his pocket. He crept silently along the fence, looking in at his old enemy, the Park Keeper.