The Tale of Squintsley Digginsworth

         There was a small series of underground tunnels. It was much the same as many other tunnels inhabited by moles; intricate in design, yet each hall small and cozy and smelling of earth. Below all the meandering passageways a little but richly stocked larder could be found, filled to the brim with paralyzed worms ready to be eaten at the resident’s convenience. Daily he could be seen scruffing about in his labyrinthine home—a small and innocent creature called Squintsley Digginsworth the third.

         This is, more or less, the story of Squintsley in its entirety. At the very least, it recalls the most and very possibly only event of any interest that the tiny fellow experienced in his lifetime. Not surprisingly, the story begins at his home, leaves soon after, and returns only briefly for the conclusion. Also not surprisingly, it begins with sniffing.

         “Sniff sniff,” Squintsley sniffed, “sniff sniff.”

         He had a good reason for so much sniffing. Squintsley was quite sure that he had detected an unfamiliar and unsettling scent—unsettling because he was fairly sure he had acquainted himself with every smell thereabouts to date. From the mouth of his tunnel he poked his nose and took a good whiff of the air. Yes, there could be no doubt. Something strange lurked nearby.

         Of course it wasn’t really anything so very strange. It was a girl by the name of Mackenzie, aged about six, who was spending the later days of her summer roaming the grassy areas just inside the boundaries of the forest, where she wasn’t allowed to go. She strolled barefoot through the field, the way children do when no one’s around to make them put their shoes on, and stared at the sky, and the trees, and at virtually everything but the rock she presently found herself tripping over.

         “Oof.” She sprawled on the grass, clutching her banged up foot for a moment. “Gah,” she sighed, sitting up to brush her grubby self off with her equally grubby hands. She crossed her legs and sat, waiting for the soreness to recede before she resumed her trek. Squintsley receded into the shadows of his doorway, hoping not to be seen by this enormous creature sitting not an inch away from his very nose. He cowered as the great beast raised itself on its impossibly long legs and stretched out until it seemed to block the sun. He gasped in relief as it turned away.

         Hearing an almost inaudible sighing sound, Mackenzie stopped again and listened. Bewildered, she searched the ground for a possible source. She then noticed a dark hole in the grass, and two glimmering beady eyes peeping out. Slowly she knelt to the ground while the eyes shook in fear. She pressed her hands to the green and squinted into the blackness.

         “Well lookit that,” she whispered wonderingly. “I think ’s a mole down there!”

         “AHEM” the mole objected, “I’m sorry, miss, but I find it a bit rude to call one by one’s species rather than by one’s own name, don’t you?”

         “I guesso,” Mackenzie admitted. “I’m awful sorry if I ‘ffended you, sir.”

         “Quite right. You may call me Squintsley Digginsworth the third.”

         “Squintsley Digginsworth?”

         “The third, yes. Or perhaps Mr. Digginsworth will do if you prefer.”

         “Oh. Well, okay. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Digginsworth.” Mackenzie wasn’t sure what else to say to a talking mole. She wasn’t frightened, exactly, but more at a loss for words, a common sentiment when you’re six years old. It didn’t help matters much when Mr. Digginsworth, all shyness and cowardice gone in the face of inadvertent impoliteness, stuck his furry head out into the light. The girl sat stunned for quite a while, much to his annoyance.

         “And might I ask what it is that you’re gaping at, miss?”

         “Well, ’s just...you’ve got a top hat.”

         “And what do YOU wear to keep your head warm?”

         “And a bowtie.”

         “Standard issue for any gentleman worth his snuff.”

         “Gentleman?”

         “YES,” Squintsley huffed in exasperation, “a gentleman. One who, I might add, has yet to learn the name of the ruffian who is trespassing on his family’s grounds.”

         “I...Uh...My name’s Mackenzie Hatterbur.” As an afterthought she added “The first.”

         “The first? Well, no wonder! Of course you must not come from a line so distinguished as my own. While you must be forgiven for that, your manners are unacceptable and your dress is...” he surveyed her dust-covered visage, from her long honey hair all filthy and knotted, to her overalls whose original color was all but indiscernible, to her little feet covered in grime from a summer day’s travels. “No, this simply won’t do.” He hopped lightly out of his hole and thumped his tiny feet off into the grass. Mackenzie turned her head to watch him go, and was surprised when, upon reaching her hand, he took a firm grasp of her index finger and began a pointless attempt to drag her behind him.

         “Where’re we going?” Mackenzie enquired, allowing herself to be led through the field.

         “Why, to find a way to make you into a lady, of course. We must consult Woofward. He’ll know just what to do.”

         “Woofward? Who’s he?”

         “He’s a very respectable man, of the most gentlemanly sort you’ll ever see. If anyone were to know what to do about your condition, it would be him.”

         Mackenzie was doubtful that she had any kind of condition, as Squintsley had put it, but she was definitely interested in meeting this Woofward character. She mulled all this over while she was pulled, stooping, across the field and through a few more. Eventually they reached a small and empty backyard adjacent to a pretty little gray house with a short white picket fence. There weren’t any other houses in sight, but this one seemed nice enough to Mackenzie. She pointed herself toward the back door, but Squintsley continued to the other end of the yard. It was then that Mackenzie noticed a rather large doghouse just inside the fence.

         Squintsley waddled up to the structure and knocked lightly just outside the gaping entrance, while Mackenzie knelt next to him on the lawn. For a moment, nothing happened, and Mackenzie wondered if perhaps the doghouse was empty. Then there was a scuffling noise inside and a series of clangs and clatters as the inhabitant made his way to the door, and then in the doorway stood a large panting golden retriever.

         “Mackenzie Hatterbur, meet Woofward Barkington the eighteenth. Woofward, this is Miss Mackenzie Hatterbur.” Woofward nodded politely and went on panting. He was a large retriever, and his coat was perfectly groomed. Around his neck was tied a black bow, and on his head rested a top hat to match. The hat, which was a bit too small for him, was fastened around his head with a sort of chin strap, and the effect was quite comical to Mackenzie’s mind. She stared wonderingly at her new acquaintance. She looked at Squintsley in bewilderment.

         “He’s a dog.”

         “Yes, and I’m a mole. But I warrant you, you won’t find a creature anywhere in the wide world better than Barkington. He’s kind, courteous, loyal, brave, well-traveled and above all knowledgeable.”

         “But he’s a dog.”

         “Bark,” Woofward interjected.

         “Ah, of course. My apologies.”

         “What did ’e say?”

         “He said that if we have some business here we had best present it or he can be of no help to us. You see, Woofward, Miss Hatterbur here has the misfortune of having been raised in a very unrefined manner, as you can plainly tell by her messy appearance and strange pattern of speech. However, we were sincerely hoping that someone of your intellect might know of a way to remedy the situation.”

         “...Bark.”

         “What?”

         “He said that he is unsure of how to go about this particular matter.”

         “Bark bark.”

         “Hm, yes, yes.”

         “Bark, bark bark bark.”

         “That is a bit of a problem. I do say.”

         “Bark bark. Woof!”

         “What an idea! I knew you were the right one to ask, Woofward. Good on you!”

         Mackenzie squirmed impatiently. She didn’t like that she couldn’t understand Woofward, and she was getting annoyed. “What are you talking about?” she whined. Squintsley looked at her, vexed by her childish behavior while he was talking to a good friend.

         “If you had but waited a moment,” he said hotly, “I would have informed you that Woofward advises we go to see another friend of ours, who is apparently quite clever in these matters. Hence, we must be off. I do hope you will be accompanying us, my good man?” He sniffed up at Woofward, responded with a bark and a nod. With that, Squintsley tramped off again, this time a little to the left of how they had come here. Woofward padded after, walking slowly so as not to get ahead of the little fellow. Mackenzie, still amazed and hopelessly confused, scrambled after them.

         After a time they came to a steep grassy hill, at which point Woofward offered his head to Squintsley, for whom crossing the stretch would have been entirely impossible. The mole mounted, and they began their ascent. Mackenzie stumbled every once in a while, when her bare feet stepped uncomfortably on small rocks or pits in the dirt. When they reached the peak, they went but a few more yards down the other side before reaching a large gray boulder resting in the side of the hill. Woofward tramped the ground with his paw a few times, and Mackenzie heard a hissing noise.

         “What’s this one’s name?” she asked shyly as she waited for him to appear.

         “Sssssssir Ssssslithersssson Ssssssquirmssssdor,” a voice rasped. A small brown snake wriggled out from under the rock and pointed its flat black head at Mackenzie. “The sssssseventh,” he added. Mackenzie noted Slitherson’s brown tweed hat and bowtie. Both matched his skin in color and pattern, and this gave one the very odd impression that he was made entirely of tweed. She actually found him to be quite charming, for someone who lives under a rock.

         Slitherson flicked his pink tongue into the air a few times, no doubt taking stock of the unfamiliar girl on his property; for these of course were the Squirmsdor hunting grounds, which had been in his family for generations. Mackenzie shoved her hands in her pockets and stared nervously at the ground. He swung his upper body around and peered at Squintsley, still clinging to Woofward’s fur.

         “And may I assssssk why my good friendssss Ssssssquintsssley and Woofward have sssssssstopped in?”

         “Hm, well my good chap, we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a dilemma. I wish to transfigure Miss Mackenzie Hatterbur—that’s the girl over there, I’m sure you’ll have noticed—into a lady of more worthy countenance. I asked Woofward what he would have me do, and he in turn referred us to you. I do hope you don’t mind us coming on to your grounds like this.”

         “Ccccccccccccertainly not, my fine fellow,” Slitherson hissed, “It’sssss alwaysssss a pleassssssure to have you visssssssit. Assssss for your little problem, it doesssss ssssseem to be quite the predicament. Thissssss girl is sssseriousssssly in need of sssssssome refinement.”

         “I dare say I’d have to agree with you there. But she has potential, eh wot?”

         “Hm, eh wot indeed.”

         “Indeed, hm.”

         “Indeed, hm, yessssssss.”

         “Yes, quite so.”

         “Quite sssssso indeed.”

         “Spot on, my good man.”

         “Sssssspot on. Hm.”

         “Bark!”

         “Well,” Slitherson pondered, “I do believe I have figured out a ssssssolution. You sssssssee, I believe I’ve heard tell of a fairy in the middle of that—” he paused to snap up a harmless centipede that had been squirming by and, much to Mackenzie’s disgust and fascination, swallow the hapless critter in a single gulp, “—foressssssssst over in that direction. Perhapssssss if we could find thisssss fairy we might asssssssk her to grant Misssss Mackenzzzzzie the sssssssstature of a proper lady.”

         “Good show, Slitherson!” Squintsley shouted joyously. “I might never have thought of such a thing on my own.”

         “Bark,” Woofward barked skeptically. Mackenzie looked to Squintsley for a translation.

         “He means to say that he takes no truck in such things as fairies and goblins.”

         “Oh, I asssssssure you, sssssssshe’sssss quite real.” Slitherson nodded sagely, seemingly sure that his information was correct. “Asssss sssssure asssss the ssssun rissssesssss in the eassssst, sssshe’ll be in thossssse woodsssss, and sssshe’ll come when sssssshe knowsssss we’re looking for her.”

         “I don’t know, Slitherson. On second thoughts, I rather agree with Woofward. The odds being so slim and the forest being so dangerous—”

         “Oh, you needn’t worry. We’ll be perfectly ssssssafe. We’ll only travel in ssssso far asssss we need to.”

         “I don’t know...”

         “I say we do it,” Mackenzie contributed. Though she didn’t much see the point in this whole affair, by now she was determined to at least see it through to the end. “I don’ mind the woods. I been in there plenty a’ times before, n’ I’ve always come out just fine.” The other three, not having paid her much mind up to now, all agreed that of course it was up to her and now they would all go into the forest to find the fairy. Woofward once again barked that he had severe doubts about this venture, and they set off.

         The forest wasn’t far, and they had reached it before long. All in all this journey had taken but a few hours, perhaps four at the most. The sky was beginning to get dark, and Mackenzie worried that she would be in trouble if she were late getting home. Then she remembered that she was going into the forest with talking animals to find a fairy, and all thoughts of home were soon lost.

         They arrived at the edge of the forest, where the trees were widely placed and the ground still grassy. The walked on a while, watching the trees thicken and the soft loam fade into moss, stones, and giant tree roots perfect for tripping up unwary travelers. The sky got darker, whether from time passing or the thickening of the leaves Mackenzie didn’t care to observe. Squintsley had continued to ride on Woofward’s back for convenience’s sake, but at this point he dismounted his canine steed and plodded along behind Slitherson, who led the way. Behind them walked Woofward and finally Mackenzie, so that altogether they made a bizarre parade; three animals dressed in their finest and a grubby little girl frequently stubbing her toes on tree roots: shff shff, plod plod, pant pant, OW!

         It was easy to determine when they had gotten to the center of the forest. Not only where the trees at their absolute closest, and the roots at their biggest, but there was just such a feeling of central importance to this sector. It felt like a center, and there was no other way to describe it. Mackenzie tried several times later and failed miserably. She had never been this far into the forest, and it had a heavy feeling about it. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

         “Bark.”

         “Yessssss, Woofward, I realizzzze we’re here. Jussssssst wait a moment before you sssssstart criticccccccizzzzzing me, if you pleasssse.”

         They stood silently for an impossibly long time. Squintsley sniffed the air, wondering what a fairy smelled like. Woofward stopped panting and sat on the dirt floor, looking around as though he didn’t expect much. Slitherson looked fleetingly from tree to tree, an expectant expression on his scaly face. Mackenzie just waited, unsure of what would happen next. Just as Squintsley ceased his snuffling and adjusted his hat, the foursome heard a rustling in the brush closest Mackenzie.

         “That musssst be her!” Slitherson exclaimed, his posture straightening and his countenance brightening.

         “Hmm,” Squintsley put a paw thoughtfully to his chin. “Hmmm.”

         “What is it, Mr. Digginsworth?” Mackenzie enquired as the other two gazed anticipant at the rustling brush.

         “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking how odd it is that a fairy should smell so very much like a—”

         Out of the brush, a large and furry bear came ambling into the clear. It took one swift look at the little critters and lumbered toward them, letting out a monstrous roar as it did.

         “Ah. I think I see now,” Squintsley said blandly.

         The bear was closing in, and all that was between it and the gentlemen was a little girl. Looking back at the creatures, now frozen in fear of the brown behemoth, she took a deep breath and planted her feet firmly in the ground. As the bear neared her, she raised her arms as a feeble barrier.

         “Now, you go away!” she shouted. “You just leave us alone! We did’n do you no harm, not me or the gentlemen. This is Slitherson Squirmsdor, and Woofward Barkington, and ’o course Squintsley Digginsworth—”

         “The third,” Squintsley interjected feebly.

         “Right, the third, and I’m Mackenzie Hatterbur, ’n you’re gonna listen to us ‘n just leave us be! Go on now, git!”

         The bear tilted its head, puzzled. Then with one swift movement, it raised a great paw and clubbed Mackenzie right across her head. She heard the animals gasp as she fell to the ground.

         When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t in the forest anymore. It looked like a ballroom, or at least what she assumed one would look like based on the picture books she had read about them. There was a huge vaulted ceiling with intricate pictures painted on it, and long white pillars holding up a high balcony, and all the walls and windows were decorated with beautiful tapestries depicting heavenly scenes.

         Mackenzie took a step and thought that something felt off. She looked down and saw that she was no longer a grubby six year-old. She looked at least twenty, by her reckoning, and her dirty overalls and sun-burned dirt-ridden arms had been replaced with a lovely ball gown and freshly scrubbed skin. Her shoes where heeled. She’d never worn heels before, and it felt funny to walk in them. She tested them out, then swung her skirt every which way, seeing what it looked like from different angles. On a hunch, she reached up to her head and discovered that her hair was suddenly soft and clean, and done up like she knew she never could have done. She looked around, trying to understand what had happened to the forest and her friends.

         “Do you like the dress?” Mackenzie turned full around and saw a beautiful woman standing there, smiling at her. She was too tall to be a person. Besides, she had giant shimmery wings drifting out from her back. Mackenzie concluded that she must be the fairy.

         “I don’t know where I am,” Mackenzie said simply.

         “That’s alright. This is just a place a thought up. It goes with the dress, don’t you think?”

         “I guesso.”

         “Mackenzie, you were very brave to protect the mole and his friends.”

         “I guesso.”

         “Mhm.” The fairy grinned cheerfully at her. “You really are a child.”

         “Aren’t I supposed to be?” Even looking like this, she didn’t feel in the least grown up. Just like a very tall little girl. The fairy nodded.

         “Absolutely. However, after the stunt you just pulled, I’d be willing to grant you a favor, if you wished it so.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “Mackenzie,” she took the girl’s hand lightly, “if you want, I could make you a lady. You could stay like this, if you want. That I will grant you for your bravery. What do you say?”

         Mackenzie thought deeply, or as deeply as a six year-old can, for some time. Finally she sighed and said, “No, I’ll go back to the way I was, if it’s all the same to you.” The fairy smiled knowingly. She stepped back from Mackenzie and began fluttering her glimmering wings.

         “Then Miss Mackenzie Hatterbur, I bid you farewell. I think,” she said partingly “that you wouldn’t have made so nearly as wonderful a lady as you do a child.” With that, the ball room blinked out, and Mackenzie was once again lying on the cold forest floor. She sat up and saw three animals: a big gold dog, a little brown snake, and a wonderful little mole, all wearing hats and bowties and standing over her where she lay. There was no bear in sight.

         “What...what happened?” she asked, still dazed from her blow to the head.

         “It’s alright, Miss Hatterbur,” Squintsley proclaimed, “the bear has disappeared. Gone just like that! Remarkable, eh wot?”

         “Yessssss, indeed,” Slitherson agreed.

         “Bark,” Woofward assented.

         “Oh. Well in that case, I should be getting home now.”

         “What? But, Miss Hatterbur, we haven’t yet found the fairy! How else are we to make a lady of you?” Squintsley wrung his little brown paws nervously, while the others wondered what had come over her to make her give up the chase so suddenly. She slowly stood up and brushed off the latest layer of dirt. Then she stretched briefly, to regain her full mobility and awareness. With a final sigh she set off towards home.

         “Miss Hatterbur!” Squintsley waddled swiftly after her. She paused, turned, and knelt to his level. She looked him squarely with her still-innocent eyes.

         “Mr. Digginsworth, I don’t want to be a lady.”

         “You don’t?”

         “No. I’m can’t be what I’m not. I’m a little girl. For now, I wanna stay that way.”

         “But why?”

         “Because I don’t like fancy dresses ’n clean hair ’n vaulted ceilings ’n expensive tapestries. I like the standing in the sunlight, ’n running through the grass barefoot, ’n not caring how dirty I get, ’n messing up my hair without ever fixing it.”

         Since he had met this girl this morning, he had been constantly searching for a way to fix all the things that were wrong with her. But now, as he noticed how happy her face was under all the dirt, he understood that there was nothing wrong with her for him to fix. He grasped her hand tightly in his little brown paws, and said “You would have been a queen among ladies, I’m sure of it.” Then he turned to Slitherson and Woofward and beckoned them to join him in the journey home. They looked at each other resignedly and followed the mole and the girl back through the forest.

         They walked together until the edge of the forest, where they discovered that it was now late evening, and Mackenzie would indeed be in trouble when she got home. Then Slitherson pointed his wriggly body toward the Squirmsdor hunting grounds, and Woofward in the direction of Barkington Manor, while Mackenzie and Squintsley waved goodbye and tramped back to the molehill where all had begun.

         When they reached the hole, Squintsley simply said goodbye, kissed her hand with his snuffly pink nose, and retreated back into his home, tipping his hat to her as he crawled out of sight. He retired to his study, the largest hole in his system of tunnels, and sat for a while thinking about the adventure he had had today. After that day, things were much like they were before, save that Squintsley was perhaps less proud than he had been, or more understanding. That is the end of the tale of Squintsley Digginsworth, the third.



*              *              *



         Mackenzie returned home safely and was punished for being late, but summer went on a summer does, and life as life does, and time and all that nonsense. The more she aged, the less Mackenzie believed that she had met a mole with a top hat and a bow tie, and his friends the dog and the snake. She may have stopped believing altogether if her mother hadn’t made a fortuitous discovery.

         A ten year-old Mackenzie came home from school one day to find her mother sitting on the lawn with a frustrated expression on her face. Mackenzie asked her what was wrong, and was told that a mole had made a home in their lawn and would have to be killed.

         “No!” she shouted. “Don’t kill it! Please, mom,” she pleaded, “let me keep him. I’ll take the best care of him that anyone ever could.” She smiled a secret smile that her mother would never understand. “I’ll make him a top hat and a bow tie.”