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what?” said Dogbane. “You really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œI do, too.”
    â€œThis is just stupid,” said Dogbane. “Grandma is fine. Mice can’t fly. I’m going home.”
    â€œI don’t scare so easy,” said Spruce, and he walked ahead, taking the path that led to the right.
    Dogbane watched him go. “Runt!” he shouted, then spun around and began to run toward home.
    Spruce kept going. But after a few moments, he stopped and glanced around. “Dogbane!” he cried. “I’m going!”
    No reply came. Uneasy, Spruce reminded himself what Grandma Poppy had told him: “A mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.” According to Grandma, a mouse named Ragweed said that. Since Spruce’s father was also named Ragweed he supposed his father would say the same thing. Well, so should he.
    Spruce gazed down the path he had chosen to get to the creek: he would do it alone.
    As Spruce walked on, he thought: A mouse has to do…But it would be a lot easier to find Grandma if I knew where she landed.

CHAPTER 19
Poppy and the Bats
    D EEP WITHIN THE BAT CAVE , Poppy gazed about at the bats that surrounded her. Bent over, wings folded up to their ears, they returned her scrutiny with solemn silence. If there was a smile on any bat face, Poppy did not see it.
    There was some nervous shuffling among the bats, but not a word was spoken. Then one bat crawled forward. His large leathery wings were hunched up to his pointy ears, and he waddled with slow, forceful, jerky movements. There was gray about his snout, his flaring nostrils were hairy, and his black eyes were surrounded with wrinkles. Poppy felt inclined to retreat, but she had no place to go.
    â€œMiss Poppy,” said the bat, speaking slowly in a high, cracking voice. “I am called Oldwing by my family. On their behalf I extend a welcome.

    â€œBeing the oldest bat in this community,” he continued, “I have the privilege to receive you in our domain. Our inquisitiveness is equaled only by our timidity. It’s unusual for us to receive visitors. Indeed, we have neverseen the likes of you here before. You say you are a deer mouse.”
    Poppy nodded. “I am, though Luci thought I was a moth.”
    Her remark brought a few broad, toothy grins, some nodding, and a few squeaks that sounded like giggles.
    â€œThough it was a mistake,” said Poppy, relaxing a bit, “my visit has been quite wonderful. It’s not often I have such new experiences. Your cave is…very beautiful.”
    â€œThank you,” returned Oldwing with a slight folding and unfolding of his wings.
    â€œBut why don’t you have visitors?” asked Poppy. “I’m sure others would like to see your home.”
    â€œFew know how to enter this cave,” said Oldwing.
    â€œYou mean you have to fly in.”
    â€œThere is another way,” said Oldwing. “But we prefer to keep it secret. No, there’s a more important reason we have few visitors.”
    Oldwing closed his eyes. “Miss Poppy,” the bat said, speaking with care as he opened his eyes, “the truth is, we bats are not considered good company. Many think we are full of disease. That we are aggressive. Dangerous. Ugly. Blind as a bat, as others say. Some go so far as to consider us evil. None of these things are true. Even so, bats are feared and, being feared, scorned.”
    Poppy, recalling her earlier thoughts about bats, felt embarrassed.
    â€œMiss Poppy,” Oldwing continued, “the truth is, we are a close-knit family who offer no harm to anybody. When you return to your home, you will do us a great kindness if you educate your family and friends as to the truth about us.”
    â€œI certainly will,” said Poppy, cheered by the idea that it was understood she would be going home.
    â€œOn behalf of my family, I thank you,” said Oldwing, nodding.