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weighin’ a couple o’ poor, weary young travellers down with the blighters, eh, wot!”
    Leaving behind the shoreline, they cut off into the dunelands, digging their paws deep into the warm sand as they surmounted each hill. Diggs was immensely cheered by the prospect of a Redwall visit. However, he had still not completely forgiven Buckler for his loss of memory on the previous evening. So he spoke his mixed thoughts aloud.
    “Hahahoho, Redwall, wot wot! Loads o’ munchables, I’ll be bound. I’ve heard the scoff there’s second to none. Indeed, they prob’ly serve seconds all the time, eh! But you, y’scoundrel, wouldn’t give a chap a single clue we were goin’ to the place. Sneaky codwoofler! Er, I say, Buck old lad, it must be about time for lunch. What say we halt an’ break out the old nosebag? All this trampin’ about gets a chap confounded hungry.”
    His companion pointed up at the sun. “See, when that’s in the centre of the sky, it’ll be midday. That’s the correct time to eat lunch. Until then, we keep going, alright?”
    Diggs was a notorious creature at chunnering. He began dropping behind again, muttering darkly, “Huh, bally sun in the centre o’ the bloomin’ sky? Might be all season before that happens. A chap could starve t’death, shrivel up like a leaf an’ be carted off by the blinkin’ breeze. ’Tain’t right, that’s what ’tain’t. Bet you won’t shed a tear for me, though!”
    To stem the tide of chunnering, Buckler made a suggestion. “How about striking up a cheery marchin’ song, to help us along the way, eh?”
    Diggs was not enchanted with the idea. “Yah, go’n’ boil your beastly bottom! How can a chap skip along warblin’ some jolly song when he’s about to collapse from starvation? I’d die before we got much further. Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, wot? A grinnin’ young skeleton whose last words were a line from some silly marchin’ ditty. Indeed, ’tis a sad fact, my fiendish friend, that’d fit in with your wicked old plan. Then you could trot on alone to Redwall an’ scoff all the tuck yourself. Well, you don’t fool me for a ruddy moment. Shame on you, my one-time travellin’ companion. Shame an’ fie, I say!”
    Buckler turned, glaring at his laggardly friend. “Are you goin’ t’stop that bloomin’ chunnerin’, or do I have to kick your tail into the middle of next season to get a bit of peace!”
    This threat did not bother Diggs, who carried on in full flow. “So, this is what it’s come to, eh? Well, kick my tender young tail as much as y’please, sah. There’s no law against a chap chunnering. I’ll chunner as much as I bally well like—so there!”
    Admitting defeat, Buckler dropped the haversack from his back. He sat down in the lee of a high sandhill, calling wearily to Diggs, “Righto, mate, let’s have lunch, before you either starve or drive me insane with your chunnering!”
    The plump complainer plopped down beside him, rubbing his paws and chortling gleefully. “Splendid day for a spot o’ lunch, wot. Shall we dine from my rations or yours? Better make it yours, ’cos you’ve already got your haversack off. Heehee!”
    Tearing open Buckler’s supplies, he enthused happily, “Oh, I say, just the ticket, bread’n’cheese, an’ a drop o’ good old cider. What ho, Buck—nothin’ like simple fare when a feller’s famished. Hello, what’s this? A jar of plums preserved in honey, what luck. That’ll hit the jolly old spot, wot wot! Well, well, who’d have thought old Cooky would bung in some vegetable turnovers? Raspberry cordial, too, an’ a hefty old fruitcake. It’ll lighten your load once I’ve dealt with that. Hah, an’ will you look at this—”
    Buckler rapped his paw with the wooden bellrope end. “Hold up, there. This is only a light lunch, not a midsummer-eve banquet. Glutton, you’d wolf the lot if I let you!”
    Diggs sucked his paw resentfully. “No need to break a chap’s