Free The Secret of the Ginger Mice by Song of the Winns Page B

It’s longer, though.”
    â€œProbably worth it,” said Alistair. “We didn’t exactly come equipped for mountain climbing. And even if it’s not the most direct route, we’d probably save time by being able to travel faster.”
    â€œMakes sense to me,” said Tibby Rose.
    Alistair sighed and tugged the ends of his scarf. “We haven’t come equipped for anything,” he said. “We’ve got no food, no money, no friends, no means of transport . . . Are you sure you want to do this, Tibby? Look at what we’ve had to face so far, and we haven’t even left your hometown.”
    Tibby met his questioning gaze with a resolute look. “What kind of home could Templeton ever be to me if I can’t even walk down the street in safety?” she said. “I have to leave.”
    Alistair nodded. “I’m sure Aunt Beezer and UncleEbenezer will help you once we reach Smiggins. The question is, how do we get there?” Trailing his hand in the cool water of the river he followed the current downstream with his eyes, the steady flow soothing his disordered thoughts. “We should probably avoid towns, travel by night as much as possible . . . Hmm . . . ‘You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.’”
    â€œWhat?” asked Tibby, who was idly filling in the rest of her makeshift map.
    â€œHuckleberry Finn,” said Alistair. “Tibby, what direction is this river flowing?”
    Tibby thought for a minute, studying her map. “South,” she said finally. “It starts in the Crankens and flows into Lake Eugenia at the foot of the Eugenians. But what’s Huckleberry Finn got to do with it? Isn’t that the name of a book? I think I’ve seen it in Great-Aunt Harriet’s library.”
    â€œHuck Finn is this white mouse, a kid like us, and he meets up with a black mouse, Jim, who has run away from his owner. He was a slave, just because he has black fur. I never understood how one mouse could make another a slave just because of the color of his fur.” He rubbed his shoulder where the stone had struck him and remembered the sharp-faced mouse shouting, Gingers! “Anyway, my point is, Huck and Jim travel down this huge river on a raft. It’s a pity we don’t have one.”
    They were both silent, the only sound the water lapping gently at the bank, then Tibby said, “You know, I could probably make one.”
    â€œYou could?” Alistair sat up. “But we don’t have any tools or materials.”
    â€œActually, we have got the materials,” said Tibby. “There’s a grove of bamboo over there—bamboo is the perfect wood for a raft; lightweight, floats well. We can find some vines or creepers to tie the sticks together. As for tools, we can use stones to hack down the bamboo we need.”
    Alistair looked at Tibby. “That’s amazing, Tib. All I did was mention a raft and you work out how to actually make one.”
    Tibby smiled modestly. “I read about how to make a raft in a book by Charlotte Tibby, the explorer, but I wouldn’t have thought of it if you hadn’t given me the idea.”
    â€œOkay, then—let’s get to work. Tell me what I should do.”
    They both stood and, checking that the coast was still clear, headed toward the bamboo grove Tibby had indicated.
    â€œWe need about a dozen bits of bamboo,” she decided, “all about the same circumference.” She wrapped her hand around a trunk that was twice her height and sothick her fingers only just touched on the other side. “Like this. If you get started on the bamboo, I’ll look for something we can fasten them together with.”
    Alistair found a shallow stretch of the river and began to pick up the flat smooth stones one by one, running his thumb along their sides to test for a thin edge. When at last he had found one that seemed sufficiently