“And the wood box?”
There were more ayes.
Tiffany glared at them.
“And what about the sheep?”
This time they all looked down.
“Why did you steal the sheep?”
There was a lot of muttering and nudging, and then one of the tiny men removed his rabbit-skull helmet and twiddled it nervously in his hands.
“We wuz hungerin’, mistress,” he muttered. “But when we kenned it was thine, we did put the beastie back in the fold.”
They looked so crestfallen that Tiffany took pity on them.
“I expect you wouldn’t have stolen it if you weren’t so hungry, then,” she said.
There were several hundred astonished looks.
“Oh, we would, mistress,” said the helmet twiddler.
“You would?”
Tiffany sounded so surprised that the twiddler looked around at his colleagues for support. They all nodded.
“Yes, mistress. We have tae. We are a famously stealin’ folk. Aren’t we, lads? Whut’s it we’re famous for?”
“Stealin’!” shouted the blue men.
“And what else, lads?”
“Fightin’!”
“And what else?”
“Drinkin’!”
“And what else?”
own the path Ratbag, archenemy of all baby birds, slunk closer, drooling. As Tiffany opened her mouth to yell, he leaped and landed with all four feet on the little man.
Or at least where the little man had been, because he had somersaulted in midair and was now right in front of Ratbag’s face and had grabbed a cat ear with each hand.
“Ach, see you, pussycat, scunner that y’are!” he yelled. “Here’s a giftie from the t’ wee burdies, yah schemie!”
He butted the cat hard on the nose. Ratbag spun in the air and landed on his back with his eyes crossed. He squinted in cold terror as the little man leaned down at him and shouted, “CHEEP!”
Then he levitated in the way that cats do and became a ginger streak, rocketing down the path through the open door, and shooting past Tiffany to hide under the sink.
The Feegle looked up, grinning, and saw Tiffany.
“Please don’t go—” she began quickly, but he went, in a blur.
Tiffany’s mother was hurrying down the path. Tiffany picked up the toad and put it back in her apron pocket just in time. The door was flung open.
“Where’s Wentworth? Is he here?” her mother asked urgently. “Did he come back? Answer me!”