And now it was moving day. Mama Chipmunk had promised to help and, after making an early start that morning, had arrived in the woods, at the remnants of her cousin’s former house, around breakfast time.
Mouse and his wife arrived at the fallen tree shortly afterwards, bearing coffee and hot biscuits, and the four of them settled in to packing. Once the dishes and cooking things and the set of antique fountain pens were wrapped in paper, and everything was loaded into piles of bags and stacks of boxes, they each carried what they could to the new apartment (which smelled faintly of maple syrup) while Crow and her cousins made light work of the larger boxes and the furniture.
By late evening, Mama Chipmunk’s cousin was unpacking things in her cozy new house while Mouse explained the tree’s habits and quirks, his wife made a giant bowl of spaghetti for dinner, and Mama Chipmunk — who rarely left the garden — sat in the open doorway and watched as the woods grew darker and hundreds of twinkling fireflies came out to play.