"I say, Brocktree sah, Ruff, are you there?"
A rustle from some bushes caused her to turn, smiling. "Come on out, you chaps. I know you Yeek!"
As she leaned into the shrubbery, a big blackbird burst from it, the bird's wing striking her face as it flew off. Dotti decided then to be stern with her fellow travelers.
"Now see here, you two, a joke's a joke an' all that, but I've had about enough. Show yourselves front'n'center please, right now!"
But the only answer she received was the cuckoo calling, "Cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo!"
Dotti flung a twig irately in its direction. "Oh, shut your blisterin' beak, y'bally nuisance!"
She decided that Brocktree and Ruff had gone out foraging for breakfast. Muttering darkly to herself, the haremaid sat on the bank, munching a stale barleyscone and an apple she had dug from her bag. The warming sunlight did nothing to raise her spirits. She felt deserted and alone.
"Huh, rotten ole Brocko an' slyboots Ruff, sneakin' off just 'cos a gel's got to have her beauty sleep, wot! Bet they've found a patch of juicy berries or somethin', prob'ly sittin' there stuffin' their great fat faces!"
She pictured the otter and the badger doing just that and began imitating their voices in conversation. "Haharr, stap me rudder an' swoggle me barnacles, matey, these berries is prime vittles. Shall we save some an' take 'em back t'camp for the young 'un?
"Hah, don't talk silly, Ruff. Let the lazy whipper-snapper find her own berries. That's the trouble with young 'uns these days, want everything done for 'em!" She was working herself up into a fine old temper, when she noticed something on the flat top of the elm boat.
It was a crude sketch, done with a piece of burnt wood from last night's fire. There was an arrow pointing downstream and a depiction of herself sitting on the boat. By a sharp bend in the stream, Ruff and Brocktree were drawn, apparently waiting for her. Also there was some sketchy writing, obviously Ruff's: "See U att noone."
The haremaid studied it, still chunnering to herself. "See me at noon where the stream bends, eh? Well, how flippin' nice to let a body know, blinkin' deserters! Tchah! Is that supposed t'be a picture of me? Just look at those miserable ears. Mine are a jolly sight prettier than that, wot! Hmph! No wonder that otter's folks chucked him outhis spellin's dreadful!"
She found the burnt stick and corrected it all to her satisfaction, drawing a huge stomach on Ruff and an ugly drooping snout on the Badger Lord. Finally, after adding many touches to make the likeness of herself more beautiful, Dotti gave Ruff a black mark for his spelling. Feeling much better, she tossed the charcoal away.
"Righto, young hare m'gel, time you commanded your own vessel, wot wot!"
After one or two minor setbacks Dotti found the going fairly simple. The stream was straight and smooth enough, and she soon got the knack of keeping the log in midstream and sailing on course. The haremaid never tired of holding conversations with herself, for who better was there to talk with, she reasoned.
"I say, I've just thought of a wheeze. I'll paddle right past those two, leave 'em on the blinkin' bank. Wot ho! I'll shout to them, 'Keep the jolly old paws poundin', the exercise'll do you the world o' good, chaps. Put yourselves about a bit, that's the ticket, find lots of super grub an' I may consider lettin' you back aboard. Bye bye now!'"
She giggled aloud at the picture she conjured up and continued her conversation. "Yes, I think I'd make a good captain, or a captainess mebbe. Wish I could play my harecordion awhilepity I've got to keep hold o' this confounded paddle. Never mind, I'll just have to sing unaccompanied. Think I'll compose one of those shanty type things, like these watery types are always caterwaulin' as they sail along. Here goes!"
She broke out into a ditty which caused nearby birds to abandon their nests, chicks and all.
"Whompin' along with a woffle de ho,
As down the stream I jolly well go,
Shoutin' 'Lower yore rudder an' furl that log,'
There's nothin' on land like a seagoin' frog.
So oar that paddle an' paddle that oar,
Listen, me hearties, I'll sing ye some more!
I'm a beautiful hare wot lives on the river,
In winter I sweat an' in summer I shiver,
I don't need no badger or otter for crew,
I'm cook an' I'm paddler an' captainess, too!
So mainsail me gizzards until we reach shore,
Listen, me hearties, I'll sing ye some more!
Ye don't mess with Dotti that ole riverbeast,
I'm grizzled an' fearsome an' that ain't the least,
So swoggle me scuppers ten dozen I've slew,
I'm a jolly young creature an' quite pretty, too!
So mizzen me muzzle an' mop the boat's floor,
I'm sorry, me hearties, I don't know no more!
"Beg pardon about the grammar, of course," she commented to a waterbeetle swimming alongside. "Dreadful terms us nautical types use, y'know. I'll work on it, I promise, wot! Er, let's see, strangle me binnacle? No, that doesn't sound right. How about boggle me bowsprit? Rather! That sounds much better!"
Away down the stream Dotti paddled, composing more horrible lyrics from her store of seagoing knowledge.
"So boggle me bowsprit, mate, just one word more,
An' I'll give ye a whack with the back o' me paw!"
She backed water with her paddle to slow the log down, for a creature had appeared on the bank. He was an enormously fat, scruffy weasel with a runny snout and the better part of that morning's breakfast evident on the filthy tunic he wore. He was hanging on to a thick vine rope which trailed upward and was lost among the trees above. Spitting into the stream, he eyed Dotti nastily and uttered one word. "More!"
The haremaid smiled politely at him. "Beg pardon, what was that you said, old chap?"
He thrust his chin out belligerently at her. "More. I said more! So then, are yew gonna give me a whack wid the back o' yer paw? Jus' you try it, rabbit!"
The haremaid sighed, rolling her eyes upward as if for help. "If you washed your face this morning, then you missed out cleaning your eyes, sah. I am not a rabbit, I'm a hare, y'know. As for swiping chaps with paws, it didn't apply to you, it was merely a ditty I was singing."
The weasel spat into the stream again. "You said that if'n I said one word more you'd gimme a whack wid the back o' yer paw. So I said one word more. More!"
Dotti eyed him disdainfully. Her mother had warned her about creatures who used aggressive language and spat a lot. There was only one way to treat such beasts: with disdain. Accordingly, she stared regally down her nose at him.
"Disgusting habit, spitting. And let me tell you, my good vermin, this stream level won't rise a fraction, no matter how much you continue to spit in it. Good day!"
As she sailed by him, the weasel roared out, "Boat ahoy!"
She waggled her ears at him, a sign of contempt often used by well-bred haremaids. "Of course it's a boat, you benighted buffoon. What did you suppose it was, a tea trolley?"
The weasel signaled to the opposite bank, where another similarly fat and untidy weasel appeared. He, too, was hanging on to a vine rope and was in the habit of spitting into the stream. He leered at Dotti as she sailed by. "Fink yer tough, don'tcher? We'll see!"
Both weasels let go their ropes and a log came crashing out of the trees above. It splashed sideways into the water, blocking off the stream behind Dotti's boat.
The haremaid knew she was in trouble, and paddled furiously to get away from the revolting pair. Unfortunately she had not gone more than a dozen boatlengths when another log came hurtling downward into the stream. Now she was blocked in fore and aft. Dotti controlled her craft as the prow bucked slightly on the bow wave set up by the falling trunk. She watched in apprehension while two more weasels emerged from the bushes. These were females, even bigger, fatter and more repulsive than the two males who came shambling up to join them. Dotti sat primly on her vessel. She knew that reasoning with such blaggards was likely to be useless, but she decided to give it a try.