The Wind in the Willows
by Kenneth Grahame
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

BY
KENNETH GRAHAME

AUTHOR OF
"THE GOLDEN AGE," "DREAM DAYS," ETC.

CONTENTS

    CHAPTER                                                
    I.   THE RIVER BANK
    II.  THE OPEN ROAD
    III. THE WILD WOOD
    IV.  MR. BADGER
    V.   DULCE DOMUM
    VI.  MR. TOAD
    VII. THE PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN
    VIII. TOAD'S ADVENTURES
    IX.  WAYFARERS ALL
    X.   THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOAD
    XI.  "LIKE SUMMER TEMPESTS CAME HIS TEARS"
    XII. THE RETURN OF ULYSSES

THE RIVER BANK

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-
cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters;
then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of
whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes
of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary
arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below
and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house
with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small
wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor,
said `Bother!' and `O blow!' and also `Hang spring-cleaning!'
and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his
coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he
made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to
the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences
are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and
scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled
and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws
and muttering to himself, `Up we go! Up we go!' till at last,
pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself
rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

`This is fine!' he said to himself. `This is better than
whitewashing!'  The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes
caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the
cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell
on his dulled hearing almost like a shout. Jumping off all his
four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring
without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till
he reached the hedge on the further side.

`Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. `Sixpence for the
privilege of passing by the private road!'  He was bowled over in
an instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted
along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they
peeped hurriedly from their holes to see what the row was about.
`Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly, and was gone
before they could think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then
they all started grumbling at each other. `How STUPID you
are! Why didn't you tell him----'  `Well, why didn't YOU
say----'  `You might have reminded him----' and so on, in the
usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late, as is
always the case.

It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through
the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the
copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding,
leaves thrusting--everything happy, and progressive, and
occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking
him and whispering `whitewash!' he somehow could only feel how
jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy
citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps
not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other
fellows busy working.

He thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered
aimlessly along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed
river. Never in his life had he seen a river before--this sleek,
sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping
things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling
itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were
caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver--glints and
gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The
Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the
river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a
man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired
at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on
to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world,
sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the
insatiable sea.

As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole
in the bank opposite, just above the water's edge, caught his
eye, and dreamily he fell to considering what a nice snug
dwelling-place it would make for an animal with few wants and
fond of a bijo riverside residence, above flood level and remote
from noise and dust. As he gazed, something bright and small
seemed to twinkle down in the heart of it, vanished, then
twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it could hardly be a
star in such an unlikely situation; and it was too glittering and
small for a glow-worm. Then, as he looked, it winked at him, and
so declared itself to be an eye; and a small face began gradually
to grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.

A brown little face, with whiskers.

A grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had
first attracted his notice.

Small neat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!

Then the two animals stood and regarded each other cautiously.

`Hullo, Mole!' said the Water Rat.

`Hullo, Rat!' said the Mole.

`Would you like to come over?' enquired the Rat presently.

`Oh, its all very well to TALK,' said the Mole, rather
pettishly, he being new to a river and riverside life and its
ways.

The Rat said nothing, but stooped and unfastened a rope and
hauled on it; then lightly stepped into a little boat which the
Mole had not observed. It was painted blue outside and white
within, and was just the size for two animals; and the Mole's
whole heart went out to it at once, even though he did not yet
fully understand its uses.

The Rat sculled smartly across and made fast. Then he held up
his forepaw as the Mole stepped gingerly down. `Lean on that!'
he said. `Now then, step lively!' and the Mole to his surprise
and rapture found himself actually seated in the stern of a real
boat.

`This has been a wonderful day!' said he, as the Rat shoved off
and took to the sculls again. `Do you know, I`ve never been in a
boat before in all my life.'

`What?' cried the Rat, open-mouthed: `Never been in a--you
never--well I--what have you been doing, then?'

`Is it so nice as all that?' asked the Mole shyly, though he was
quite prepared to believe it as he leant back in his seat and
surveyed the cushions, the oars, the rowlocks, and all the
fascinating fittings, and felt the boat sway lightly under him.

`Nice? It's the ONLY thing,' said the Water Rat solemnly, as
he leant forward for his stroke. `Believe me, my young friend,
there is NOTHING--absolute nothing--half so much worth doing
as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,' he went on
dreamily: `messing--about--in--boats; messing----'

`Look ahead, Rat!' cried the Mole suddenly.

It was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The
dreamer, the joyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the
boat, his heels in the air.

`--about in boats--or WITH boats,' the Rat went on composedly,
picking himself up with a pleasant laugh. `In or out of 'em, it
doesn't matter. Nothing seems really to matter, that's the charm
of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don't; whether you
arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else,
or whether you never get anywhere at all, you're always busy, and
you never do anything in particular; and when you've done it
there's always something else to do, and you can do it if you
like, but you'd much better not. Look here! If you've really
nothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the
river together, and have a long day of it?'

The Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest
with a sigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into
the soft cushions. `WHAT a day I'm having!' he said. `Let us
start at once!'

`Hold hard a minute, then!' said the Rat. He looped the painter
through a ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole
above, and after a short interval reappeared staggering under a
fat, wicker luncheon-basket.

`Shove that under your feet,' he observed to the Mole, as he
passed it down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and
took the sculls again.

`What's inside it?' asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.

`There's cold chicken inside it,' replied the Rat briefly;
`coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssan
dwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater----'

`O stop, stop,' cried the Mole in ecstacies: `This is too much!'

`Do you really think so?' enquired the Rat seriously. `It's only
what I always take on these little excursions; and the other
animals are always telling me that I'm a mean beast and cut it
VERY fine!'

The Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the new
life he was entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle, the
ripple, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight, he trailed a
paw in the water and dreamed long waking dreams. The Water Rat,
like the good little fellow he was, sculled steadily on and
forebore to disturb him.

`I like your clothes awfully, old chap,' he remarked after some
half an hour or so had passed. `I'm going to get a black velvet
smoking-suit myself some day, as soon as I can afford it.'

`I beg your pardon,' said the Mole, pulling himself together with
an effort. `You must think me very rude; but all this is so new
to me. So--this--is--a--River!'

`THE River,' corrected the Rat.

`And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!'

`By it and with it and on it and in it,' said the Rat. `It's
brother and sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and
drink, and (naturally) washing. It's my world, and I don't want
any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it
doesn't know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we've had
together! Whether in winter or summer, spring or autumn, it's
always got its fun and its excitements. When the floods are on
in February, and my cellars and basement are brimming with drink
that's no good to me, and the brown water runs by my best bedroom
window; or again when it all drops away and, shows patches of mud
that smells like plum-cake, and the rushes and weed clog the
channels, and I can potter about dry shod over most of the bed of
it and find fresh food to eat, and things careless people have
dropped out of boats!'

`But isn't it a bit dull at times?' the Mole ventured to ask.
`Just you and the river, and no one else to pass a word with?'

`No one else to--well, I mustn't be hard on you,' said the Rat
with forbearance. `You're new to it, and of course you don't
know. The bank is so crowded nowadays that many people are
moving away altogether: O no, it isn't what it used to be,
at all. Otters, kingfishers, dabchicks, moorhens, all of them
about all day long and always wanting you to DO something--as
if a fellow had no business of his own to attend to!'

`What lies over THERE' asked the Mole, waving a paw towards a
background of woodland that darkly framed the water-meadows on
one side of the river.

`That? O, that's just the Wild Wood,' said the Rat shortly. `We
don't go there very much, we river-bankers.'

`Aren't they--aren't they very NICE people in there?' said the
Mole, a trifle nervously.

`W-e-ll,' replied the Rat, `let me see. The squirrels are all
right. AND the rabbits--some of 'em, but rabbits are a mixed
lot. And then there's Badger, of course. He lives right in the
heart of it; wouldn't live anywhere else, either, if you paid him
to do it. Dear old Badger! Nobody interferes with HIM.
They'd better not,' he added significantly.

`Why, who SHOULD interfere with him?' asked the Mole.

`Well, of course--there--are others,' explained the Rat in a
hesitating sort of way.

`Weasels--and stoats--and foxes--and so on. They're all right in
a way--I'm very good friends with them--pass the time of day when
we meet, and all that--but they break out sometimes, there's no
denying it, and then--well, you can't really trust them, and
that's the fact.'

The Mole knew well that it is quite against animal-etiquette to
dwell on possible trouble ahead, or even to allude to it; so he
dropped the subject.

`And beyond the Wild Wood again?' he asked: `Where it's all blue
and dim, and one sees what may be hills or perhaps they mayn't,
and something like the smoke of towns, or is it only cloud-
drift?'

`Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,' said the Rat. `And
that's something that doesn't matter, either to you or me. I've
never been there, and I'm never going, nor you either, if you've
got any sense at all. Don't ever refer to it again, please. Now
then! Here's our backwater at last, where we're going to lunch.'

Leaving the main stream, they now passed into what seemed at
first sight like a little land-locked lake. Green turf
sloped down to either edge, brown snaky tree-roots gleamed below
the surface of the quiet water, while ahead of them the silvery
shoulder and foamy tumble of a weir, arm-in-arm with a restless
dripping mill-wheel, that held up in its turn a grey-gabled mill-
house, filled the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull and
smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheerfully out
of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful that the Mole could
only hold up both forepaws and gasp, `O my! O my! O my!'

The Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, made her fast,
helped the still awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out the
luncheon-basket. The Mole begged as a favour to be allowed to
unpack it all by himself; and the Rat was very pleased to indulge
him, and to sprawl at full length on the grass and rest, while
his excited friend shook out the table-cloth and spread it, took
out all the mysterious packets one by one and arranged their
contents in due order, still gasping, `O my! O my!' at each
fresh revelation. When all was ready, the Rat said, `Now, pitch
in, old fellow!' and the Mole was indeed very glad to obey, for
he had started his spring-cleaning at a very early hour that
morning, as people WILL do, and had not paused for bite or
sup; and he had been through a very great deal since that distant
time which now seemed so many days ago.

`What are you looking at?' said the Rat presently, when the edge
of their hunger was somewhat dulled, and the Mole's eyes were
able to wander off the table-cloth a little.

`I am looking,' said the Mole, `at a streak of bubbles that I see
travelling along the surface of the water. That is a thing that
strikes me as funny.'

`Bubbles? Oho!' said the Rat, and chirruped cheerily in an
inviting sort of way.

A broad glistening muzzle showed itself above the edge of the
bank, and the Otter hauled himself out and shook the water from
his coat.

`Greedy beggars!' he observed, making for the provender. `Why
didn't you invite me, Ratty?'

`This was an impromptu affair,' explained the Rat. `By the way--
my friend Mr. Mole.'

`Proud, I'm sure,' said the Otter, and the two animals were
friends forthwith.

`Such a rumpus everywhere!' continued the Otter. `All the world
seems out on the river to-day. I came up this backwater to try
and get a moment's peace, and then stumble upon you fellows!--At
least--I beg pardon--I don't exactly mean that, you know.'

There was a rustle behind them, proceeding from a hedge wherein
last year's leaves still clung thick, and a stripy head, with
high shoulders behind it, peered forth on them.

`Come on, old Badger!' shouted the Rat.

The Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted, `H'm!
Company,' and turned his back and disappeared from view.

`That's JUST the sort of fellow he is!' observed the
disappointed Rat. `Simply hates Society! Now we shan't see any
more of him to-day. Well, tell us, WHO'S out on the river?'

`Toad's out, for one,' replied the Otter. `In his brand-new
wager-boat; new togs, new everything!'

The two animals looked at each other and laughed.

`Once, it was nothing but sailing,' said the Rat, `Then he tired
of that and took to punting. Nothing would please him but to
punt all day and every day, and a nice mess he made of it. Last
year it was house-boating, and we all had to go and stay with him
in his house-boat, and pretend we liked it. He was going to
spend the rest of his life in a house-boat. It's all the same,
whatever he takes up; he gets tired of it, and starts on
something fresh.'

`Such a good fellow, too,' remarked the Otter reflectively: `But
no stability--especially in a boat!'

From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream
across the island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat
flashed into view, the rower--a short, stout figure--splashing
badly and rolling a good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat
stood up and hailed him, but Toad--for it was he--shook his head
and settled sternly to his work.

`He'll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,'
said the Rat, sitting down again.

`Of course he will,' chuckled the Otter. `Did I ever tell you
that good story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this
way. Toad. . . .'

An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in
the intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies
seeing life. A swirl of water and a `cloop!' and the May-fly was
visible no more.

Neither was the Otter.

The Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the
turf whereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter to
be seen, as far as the distant horizon.

But again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the
river.

The Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that animal-
etiquette forbade any sort of comment on the sudden disappearance
of one's friends at any moment, for any reason or no reason
whatever.

`Well, well,' said the Rat, `I suppose we ought to be moving. I
wonder which of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?'  He did
not speak as if he was frightfully eager for the treat.

`O, please let me,' said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let
him.

Packing the basket was not quite such pleasant work as unpacking'
the basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying
everything, and although just when he had got the basket
packed and strapped up tightly he saw a plate staring up at him
from the grass, and when the job had been done again the Rat
pointed out a fork which anybody ought to have seen, and last of
all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had been sitting on
without knowing it--still, somehow, the thing got finished at
last, without much loss of temper.

The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently
homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to
himself, and not paying much attention to Mole. But the Mole was
very full of lunch, and self-satisfaction, and pride, and already
quite at home in a boat (so he thought) and was getting a bit
restless besides: and presently he said, `Ratty! Please, _I_
want to row, now!'

The Rat shook his head with a smile. `Not yet, my young friend,'
he said--'wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so easy
as it looks.'

The Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel
more and more jealous of Rat, sculling so strongly and so easily
along, and his pride began to whisper that he could do it every
bit as well. He jumped up and seized the sculls, so
suddenly, that the Rat, who was gazing out over the water and
saying more poetry-things to himself, was taken by surprise and
fell backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for the
second time, while the triumphant Mole took his place and grabbed
the sculls with entire confidence.

`Stop it, you SILLY ass!' cried the Rat, from the bottom of
the boat. `You can't do it! You'll have us over!'

The Mole flung his sculls back with a flourish, and made a great
dig at the water. He missed the surface altogether, his legs
flew up above his head, and he found himself lying on the top of
the prostrate Rat. Greatly alarmed, he made a grab at the side
of the boat, and the next moment--Sploosh!

Over went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the river.

O my, how cold the water was, and O, how VERY wet it felt.
How it sang in his ears as he went down, down, down! How bright
and welcome the sun looked as he rose to the surface coughing and
spluttering! How black was his despair when he felt himself
sinking again! Then a firm paw gripped him by the back of
his neck. It was the Rat, and he was evidently laughing--the
Mole could FEEL him laughing, right down his arm and through
his paw, and so into his--the Mole's--neck.

The Rat got hold of a scull and shoved it under the Mole's arm;
then he did the same by the other side of him and, swimming
behind, propelled the helpless animal to shore, hauled him out,
and set him down on the bank, a squashy, pulpy lump of misery.

When the Rat had rubbed him down a bit, and wrung some of the wet
out of him, he said, `Now, then, old fellow! Trot up and down
the towing-path as hard as you can, till you're warm and dry
again, while I dive for the luncheon-basket.'

So the dismal Mole, wet without and ashamed within, trotted about
till he was fairly dry, while the Rat plunged into the water
again, recovered the boat, righted her and made her fast, fetched
his floating property to shore by degrees, and finally dived
successfully for the luncheon-basket and struggled to land with
it.

When all was ready for a start once more, the Mole, limp and
dejected, took his seat in the stern of the boat; and as they set
off, he said in a low voice, broken with emotion, `Ratty, my
generous friend! I am very sorry indeed for my foolish and
ungrateful conduct. My heart quite fails me when I think how I
might have lost that beautiful luncheon-basket. Indeed, I have
been a complete ass, and I know it. Will you overlook it this
once and forgive me, and let things go on as before?'

`That's all right, bless you!' responded the Rat cheerily.
`What's a little wet to a Water Rat? I'm more in the water than
out of it most days. Don't you think any more about it; and,
look here! I really think you had better come and stop with me
for a little time. It's very plain and rough, you know--not like
Toad's house at all--but you haven't seen that yet; still, I can
make you comfortable. And I'll teach you to row, and to swim,
and you'll soon be as handy on the water as any of us.'

The Mole was so touched by his kind manner of speaking that he
could find no voice to answer him; and he had to brush away a
tear or two with the back of his paw. But the Rat kindly looked
in another direction, and presently the Mole's spirits revived
again, and he was even able to give some straight back-talk
to a couple of moorhens who were sniggering to each other
about his bedraggled appearance.

When they got home, the Rat made a bright fire in the parlour,
and planted the Mole in an arm-chair in front of it, having
fetched down a dressing-gown and slippers for him, and told him
river stories till supper-time. Very thrilling stories they
were, too, to an earth-dwelling animal like Mole. Stories about
weirs, and sudden floods, and leaping pike, and steamers that
flung hard bottles--at least bottles were certainly flung, and
FROM steamers, so presumably BY them; and about herons, and
how particular they were whom they spoke to; and about adventures
down drains, and night-fishings with Otter, or excursions far a-
field with Badger. Supper was a most cheerful meal; but very
shortly afterwards a terribly sleepy Mole had to be escorted
upstairs by his considerate host, to the best bedroom, where he
soon laid his head on his pillow in great peace and contentment,
knowing that his new-found friend the River was lapping the sill
of his window.

This day was only the first of many similar ones for the
emancipated Mole, each of them longer and full of interest as
the ripening summer moved onward. He learnt to swim and to row,
and entered into the joy of running water; and with his ear to
the reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the
wind went whispering so constantly among them.

II

THE OPEN ROAD

`Ratty,' said the Mole suddenly, one bright summer morning, `if
you please, I want to ask you a favour.'

The Rat was sitting on the river bank, singing a little song. He
had just composed it himself, so he was very taken up with it,
and would not pay proper attention to Mole or anything else.
Since early morning he had been swimming in the river, in company
with his friends the ducks. And when the ducks stood on their
heads suddenly, as ducks will, he would dive down and tickle
their necks, just under where their chins would be if ducks had
chins, till they were forced to come to the surface again in a
hurry, spluttering and angry and shaking their feathers at him,
for it is impossible to say quite ALL you feel when your head
is under water. At last they implored him to go away and
attend to his own affairs and leave them to mind theirs. So the
Rat went away, and sat on the river bank in the sun, and made up
a song about them, which he called

`DUCKS' DITTY.'
All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!

Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth
Where the roach swim--
Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!
WE like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above
Swifts whirl and call--
WE are down a-dabbling
Up tails all!

`I don't know that I think so VERY much of that little song,
Rat,' observed the Mole cautiously. He was no poet himself
and didn't care who knew it; and he had a candid nature.

`Nor don't the ducks neither,' replied the Rat cheerfully. `They
say, "WHY can't fellows be allowed to do what they like
WHEN they like and AS they like, instead of other fellows
sitting on banks and watching them all the time and making
remarks and poetry and things about them? What NONSENSE it
all is!"  That's what the ducks say.'

`So it is, so it is,' said the Mole, with great heartiness.

`No, it isn't!' cried the Rat indignantly.

`Well then, it isn't, it isn't,' replied the Mole soothingly.
`But what I wanted to ask you was, won't you take me to call on
Mr. Toad? I've heard so much about him, and I do so want to make
his acquaintance.'

`Why, certainly,' said the good-natured Rat, jumping to his feet
and dismissing poetry from his mind for the day. `Get the boat
out, and we'll paddle up there at once. It's never the wrong
time to call on Toad. Early or late he's always the same fellow.
Always good-tempered, always glad to see you, always sorry when
you go!'

`He must be a very nice animal,' observed the Mole, as he got
into the boat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself
comfortably in the stern.

`He is indeed the best of animals,' replied Rat. `So simple, so
good-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he's not very
clever--we can't all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both
boastful and conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has
Toady.'

Rounding a bend in the river, they came in sight of a handsome,
dignified old house of mellowed red brick, with well-kept lawns
reaching down to the water's edge.

`There's Toad Hall,' said the Rat; `and that creek on the left,
where the notice-board says, "Private. No landing allowed,"
leads to his boat-house, where we'll leave the boat. The stables
are over there to the right. That's the banqueting-hall you're
looking at now--very old, that is. Toad is rather rich, you
know, and this is really one of the nicest houses in these parts,
though we never admit as much to Toad.'

They glided up the creek, and the Mole slipped his sculls as they
passed into the shadow of a large boat-house. Here they saw
many handsome boats, slung from the cross beams or hauled up on a
slip, but none in the water; and the place had an unused and a
deserted air.

The Rat looked around him. `I understand,' said he. `Boating is
played out. He's tired of it, and done with it. I wonder what
new fad he has taken up now? Come along and let's look him up.
We shall hear all about it quite soon enough.'

They disembarked, and strolled across the gay flower-decked lawns
in search of Toad, whom they presently happened upon resting in a
wicker garden-chair, with a pre-occupied expression of face, and
a large map spread out on his knees.

`Hooray!' he cried, jumping up on seeing them, `this is
splendid!'  He shook the paws of both of them warmly, never
waiting for an introduction to the Mole. `How KIND of you!'
he went on, dancing round them. `I was just going to send a boat
down the river for you, Ratty, with strict orders that you were
to be fetched up here at once, whatever you were doing. I want
you badly--both of you. Now what will you take? Come inside
and have something! You don't know how lucky it is, your turning
up just now!'

`Let's sit quiet a bit, Toady!' said the Rat, throwing himself
into an easy chair, while the Mole took another by the side of
him and made some civil remark about Toad's `delightful
residence.'

`Finest house on the whole river,' cried Toad boisterously. `Or
anywhere else, for that matter,' he could not help adding.

Here the Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately the Toad saw him do
it, and turned very red. There was a moment's painful silence.
Then Toad burst out laughing. `All right, Ratty,' he said.
`It's only my way, you know. And it's not such a very bad house,
is it? You know you rather like it yourself. Now, look here.
Let's be sensible. You are the very animals I wanted. You've
got to help me. It's most important!'

`It's about your rowing, I suppose,' said the Rat, with an
innocent air. `You're getting on fairly well, though you splash
a good bit still. With a great deal of patience, and any
quantity of coaching, you may----'

`O, pooh! boating!' interrupted the Toad, in great disgust.
Silly boyish amusement. I've given that up LONG ago. Sheer
waste of time, that's what it is. It makes me downright sorry to
see you fellows, who ought to know better, spending all your
energies in that aimless manner. No, I've discovered the real
thing, the only genuine occupation for a life time. I propose to
devote the remainder of mine to it, and can only regret the
wasted years that lie behind me, squandered in trivialities.
Come with me, dear Ratty, and your amiable friend also, if he
will be so very good, just as far as the stable-yard, and you
shall see what you shall see!'

He led the way to the stable-yard accordingly, the Rat following
with a most mistrustful expression; and there, drawn out of the
coach house into the open, they saw a gipsy caravan, shining with
newness, painted a canary-yellow picked out with green, and red
wheels.

`There you are!' cried the Toad, straddling and expanding
himself. `There's real life for you, embodied in that little
cart. The open road, the dusty highway, the heath, the common,
the hedgerows, the rolling downs! Camps, villages, towns,
cities! Here to-day, up and off to somewhere else to-morrow!
Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before
you, and a horizon that's always changing! And mind! this is the
very finest cart of its sort that was ever built, without any
exception. Come inside and look at the arrangements. Planned
'em all myself, I did!'

The Mole was tremendously interested and excited, and followed
him eagerly up the steps and into the interior of the caravan.
The Rat only snorted and thrust his hands deep into his pockets,
remaining where he was.

It was indeed very compact and comfortable. Little sleeping
bunks--a little table that folded up against the wall--a cooking-
stove, lockers, bookshelves, a bird-cage with a bird in it; and
pots, pans, jugs and kettles of every size and variety.

`All complete!' said the Toad triumphantly, pulling open a
locker. `You see--biscuits, potted lobster, sardines--everything
you can possibly want. Soda-water here--baccy there--letter-
paper, bacon, jam, cards and dominoes--you'll find,' he
continued, as they descended the steps again, `you'll find that
nothing what ever has been forgotten, when we make our start
this afternoon.'

`I beg your pardon,' said the Rat slowly, as he chewed a straw,
`but did I overhear you say something about "WE," and
"START," and "THIS AFTERNOON?"'

`Now, you dear good old Ratty,' said Toad, imploringly, `don't
begin talking in that stiff and sniffy sort of way, because you
know you've GOT to come. I can't possibly manage without you,
so please consider it settled, and don't argue--it's the one
thing I can't stand. You surely don't mean to stick to your dull
fusty old river all your life, and just live in a hole in a bank,
and BOAT? I want to show you the world! I'm going to make an
ANIMAL of you, my boy!'

`I don't care,' said the Rat, doggedly. `I'm not coming, and
that's flat. And I AM going to stick to my old river, AND
live in a hole, AND boat, as I've always done. And what's
more, Mole's going to stick me and do as I do, aren't you, Mole?'

`Of course I am,' said the Mole, loyally. `I'll always stick to
you, Rat, and what you say is to be--has got to be. All the
same, it sounds as if it might have been--well, rather fun,
you know!' he added, wistfully. Poor Mole! The Life Adventurous
was so new a thing to him, and so thrilling; and this fresh
aspect of it was so tempting; and he had fallen in love at first
sight with the canary-coloured cart and all its little fitments.

The Rat saw what was passing in his mind, and wavered. He hated
disappointing people, and he was fond of the Mole, and would do
almost anything to oblige him. Toad was watching both of them
closely.

`Come along in, and have some lunch,' he said, diplomatically,
`and we'll talk it over. We needn't decide anything in a hurry.
Of course, _I_ don't really care. I only want to give pleasure
to you fellows. "Live for others!"  That's my motto in life.'

During luncheon--which was excellent, of course, as everything at
Toad Hall always was--the Toad simply let himself go.
Disregarding the Rat, he proceeded to play upon the inexperienced
Mole as on a harp. Naturally a voluble animal, and always
mastered by his imagination, he painted the prospects of the trip
and the joys of the open life and the roadside in such
glowing colours that the Mole could hardly sit in his chair for
excitement. Somehow, it soon seemed taken for granted by all
three of them that the trip was a settled thing; and the Rat,
though still unconvinced in his mind, allowed his good-nature to
over-ride his personal objections. He could not bear to
disappoint his two friends, who were already deep in schemes and
anticipations, planning out each day's separate occupation for
several weeks ahead.

When they were quite ready, the now triumphant Toad led his
companions to the paddock and set them to capture the old grey
horse, who, without having been consulted, and to his own extreme
annoyance, had been told off by Toad for the dustiest job in this
dusty expedition. He frankly preferred the paddock, and took a
deal of catching. Meantime Toad packed the lockers still tighter
with necessaries, and hung nosebags, nets of onions, bundles of
hay, and baskets from the bottom of the cart. At last the horse
was caught and harnessed, and they set off, all talking at once,
each animal either trudging by the side of the cart or sitting on
the shaft, as the humour took him. It was a golden
afternoon. The smell of the dust they kicked up was rich and
satisfying; out of thick orchards on either side the road, birds
called and whistled to them cheerily; good-natured wayfarers,
passing them, gave them `Good-day,' or stopped to say nice things
about their beautiful cart; and rabbits, sitting at their front
doors in the hedgerows, held up their fore-paws, and said, `O my!
O my! O my!'

Late in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home, they
drew up on a remote common far from habitations, turned the horse
loose to graze, and ate their simple supper sitting on the grass
by the side of the cart. Toad talked big about all he was going
to do in the days to come, while stars grew fuller and larger all
around them, and a yellow moon, appearing suddenly and silently
from nowhere in particular, came to keep them company and listen
to their talk. At last they turned in to their little bunks in
the cart; and Toad, kicking out his legs, sleepily said, `Well,
good night, you fellows! This is the real life for a gentleman!
Talk about your old river!'

`I DON'T talk about my river,' replied the patient Rat.
`You KNOW I don't, Toad. But I THINK about it,' he added
pathetically, in a lower tone: `I think about it--all the time!'

The Mole reached out from under his blanket, felt for the Rat's
paw in the darkness, and gave it a squeeze. `I'll do whatever
you like, Ratty,' he whispered. `Shall we run away to-morrow
morning, quite early--VERY early--and go back to our dear old
hole on the river?'

`No, no, we'll see it out,' whispered back the Rat. `Thanks
awfully, but I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended.
It wouldn't be safe for him to be left to himself. It won't take
very long. His fads never do. Good night!'

The end was indeed nearer than even the Rat suspected.

After so much open air and excitement the Toad slept very
soundly, and no amount of shaking could rouse him out of bed next
morning. So the Mole and Rat turned to, quietly and manfully,
and while the Rat saw to the horse, and lit a fire, and cleaned
last night's cups and platters, and got things ready for
breakfast, the Mole trudged off to the nearest village, a long
way off, for milk and eggs and various necessaries the Toad had,
of course, forgotten to provide. The hard work had all been
done, and the two animals were resting, thoroughly exhausted, by
the time Toad appeared on the scene, fresh and gay, remarking
what a pleasant easy life it was they were all leading now, after
the cares and worries and fatigues of housekeeping at home.

They had a pleasant ramble that day over grassy downs and along
narrow by-lanes, and camped as before, on a common, only this
time the two guests took care that Toad should do his fair share
of work. In consequence, when the time came for starting next
morning, Toad was by no means so rapturous about the simplicity
of the primitive life, and indeed attempted to resume his place
in his bunk, whence he was hauled by force. Their way lay, as
before, across country by narrow lanes, and it was not till the
afternoon that they came out on the high-road, their first high-
road; and there disaster, fleet and unforeseen, sprang out on
them--disaster momentous indeed to their expedition, but simply
overwhelming in its effect on the after-career of Toad.

They were strolling along the high-road easily, the Mole by
the horse's head, talking to him, since the horse had complained
that he was being frightfully left out of it, and nobody
considered him in the least; the Toad and the Water Rat walking
behind the cart talking together--at least Toad was talking, and
Rat was saying at intervals, `Yes, precisely; and what did YOU
say to HIM?'--and thinking all the time of something very
different, when far behind them they heard a faint warning hum;
like the drone of a distant bee. Glancing back, they saw a small
cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy, advancing on them at
incredible speed, while from out the dust a faint `Poop-poop!'
wailed like an uneasy animal in pain. Hardly regarding it, they
turned to resume their conversation, when in an instant (as it
seemed) the peaceful scene was changed, and with a blast of wind
and a whirl of sound that made them jump for the nearest ditch,
It was on them! The `Poop-poop' rang with a brazen shout in
their ears, they had a moment's glimpse of an interior of
glittering plate-glass and rich morocco, and the magnificent
motor-car, immense, breath-snatching, passionate, with its pilot
tense and hugging his wheel, possessed all earth and air for
the fraction of a second, flung an enveloping cloud of dust that
blinded and enwrapped them utterly, and then dwindled to a speck
in the far distance, changed back into a droning bee once more.

The old grey horse, dreaming, as he plodded along, of his quiet
paddock, in a new raw situation such as this simply abandoned
himself to his natural emotions. Rearing, plunging, backing
steadily, in spite of all the Mole's efforts at his head, and all
the Mole's lively language directed at his better feelings, he
drove the cart backwards towards the deep ditch at the side of
the road. It wavered an instant--then there was a heartrending
crash--and the canary-coloured cart, their pride and their joy,
lay on its side in the ditch, an irredeemable wreck.

The Rat danced up and down in the road, simply transported with
passion. `You villains!' he shouted, shaking both fists, `You
scoundrels, you highwaymen, you--you--roadhogs!--I'll have the
law of you! I'll report you! I'll take you through all the
Courts!'  His home-sickness had quite slipped away from him, and
for the moment he was the skipper of the canary-coloured
vessel driven on a shoal by the reckless jockeying of rival
mariners, and he was trying to recollect all the fine and biting
things he used to say to masters of steam-launches when their
wash, as they drove too near the bank, used to flood his parlour-
carpet at home.

Toad sat straight down in the middle of the dusty road, his legs
stretched out before him, and stared fixedly in the direction of
the disappearing motor-car. He breathed short, his face wore a
placid satisfied expression, and at intervals he faintly murmured
`Poop-poop!'

The Mole was busy trying to quiet the horse, which he succeeded
in doing after a time. Then he went to look at the cart, on its
side in the ditch. It was indeed a sorry sight. Panels and
windows smashed, axles hopelessly bent, one wheel off, sardine-
tins scattered over the wide world, and the bird in the bird-cage
sobbing pitifully and calling to be let out.

The Rat came to help him, but their united efforts were not
sufficient to right the cart. `Hi! Toad!' they cried. `Come and
bear a hand, can't you!'

The Toad never answered a word, or budged from his seat in the
road; so they went to see what was the matter with him. They
found him in a sort of a trance, a happy smile on his face, his
eyes still fixed on the dusty wake of their destroyer. At
intervals he was still heard to murmur `Poop-poop!'

The Rat shook him by the shoulder. `Are you coming to help us,
Toad?' he demanded sternly.

`Glorious, stirring sight!' murmured Toad, never offering to
move. `The poetry of motion! The REAL way to travel! The
ONLY way to travel! Here to-day--in next week to-morrow!
Villages skipped, towns and cities jumped--always somebody else's
horizon! O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O my!'

`O STOP being an ass, Toad!' cried the Mole despairingly.

`And to think I never KNEW!' went on the Toad in a dreamy
monotone. `All those wasted years that lie behind me, I never
knew, never even DREAMT! But NOW--but now that I know, now
that I fully realise! O what a flowery track lies spread before
me, henceforth! What dust-clouds shall spring up behind me as I
speed on my reckless way! What carts I shall fling
carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset!
Horrid little carts--common carts--canary-coloured carts!'

`What are we to do with him?' asked the Mole of the Water Rat.

`Nothing at all,' replied the Rat firmly. `Because there is
really nothing to be done. You see, I know him from of old. He
is now possessed. He has got a new craze, and it always takes
him that way, in its first stage. He'll continue like that for
days now, like an animal walking in a happy dream, quite useless
for all practical purposes. Never mind him. Let's go and see
what there is to be done about the cart.'

A careful inspection showed them that, even if they succeeded in
righting it by themselves, the cart would travel no longer. The
axles were in a hopeless state, and the missing wheel was
shattered into pieces.

The Rat knotted the horse's reins over his back and took him by
the head, carrying the bird cage and its hysterical occupant in
the other hand. `Come on!' he said grimly to the Mole. `It's
five or six miles to the nearest town, and we shall just have
to walk it. The sooner we make a start the better.'

`But what about Toad?' asked the Mole anxiously, as they set off
together. `We can't leave him here, sitting in the middle of the
road by himself, in the distracted state he's in! It's not safe.
Supposing another Thing were to come along?'

`O, BOTHER Toad,' said the Rat savagely; `I've done with him!'

They had not proceeded very far on their way, however, when there
was a pattering of feet behind them, and Toad caught them up and
thrust a paw inside the elbow of each of them; still breathing
short and staring into vacancy.

`Now, look here, Toad!' said the Rat sharply: `as soon as we get
to the town, you'll have to go straight to the police-station,
and see if they know anything about that motor-car and who it
belongs to, and lodge a complaint against it. And then you'll
have to go to a blacksmith's or a wheelwright's and arrange for
the cart to be fetched and mended and put to rights. It'll take
time, but it's not quite a hopeless smash. Meanwhile, the Mole
and I will go to an inn and find comfortable rooms where we can
stay till the cart's ready, and till your nerves have
recovered their shock.'

`Police-station! Complaint!'murmured Toad dreamily. `Me
COMPLAIN of that beautiful, that heavenly vision that has been
vouchsafed me! MEND THE CART! I've done with carts for ever.
I never want to see the cart, or to hear of it, again. O, Ratty!
You can't think how obliged I am to you for consenting to come on
this trip! I wouldn't have gone without you, and then I might
never have seen that--that swan, that sunbeam, that thunderbolt!
I might never have heard that entrancing sound, or smelt that
bewitching smell! I owe it all to you, my best of friends!'

The Rat turned from him in despair. `You see what it is?' he
said to the Mole, addressing him across Toad's head: `He's quite
hopeless. I give it up--when we get to the town we'll go to the
railway station, and with luck we may pick up a train there
that'll get us back to riverbank to-night. And if ever you catch
me going a-pleasuring with this provoking animal again!'

He snorted, and during the rest of that weary trudge addressed
his remarks exclusively to Mole.

On reaching the town they went straight to the station and
deposited Toad in the second-class waiting-room, giving a porter
twopence to keep a strict eye on him. They then left the horse
at an inn stable, and gave what directions they could about the
cart and its contents. Eventually, a slow train having landed
them at a station not very far from Toad Hall, they escorted the
spell-bound, sleep-walking Toad to his door, put him inside it,
and instructed his housekeeper to feed him, undress him, and put
him to bed. Then they got out their boat from the boat-house,
sculled down the river home, and at a very late hour sat down to
supper in their own cosy riverside parlour, to the Rat's great
joy and contentment.

The following evening the Mole, who had risen late and taken
things very easy all day, was sitting on the bank fishing, when
the Rat, who had been looking up his friends and gossiping, came
strolling along to find him. `Heard the news?' he said.
`There's nothing else being talked about, all along the river
bank. Toad went up to Town by an early train this morning. And
he has ordered a large and very expensive motor-car.'

III

THE WILD WOOD

The Mole had long wanted to make the I acquaintance of the
Badger. He seemed, by all accounts, to be such an important
personage and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen
influence felt by everybody about the place. But whenever the
Mole mentioned his wish to the Water Rat he always found himself
put off. `It's all right,' the Rat would say. `Badger'll turn
up some day or other--he's always turning up--and then I'll
introduce you. The best of fellows! But you must not only take
him AS you find him, but WHEN you find him.'

`Couldn't you ask him here dinner or something?' said the Mole.

`He wouldn't come,' replied the Rat simply. `Badger hates
Society, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of
thing.'

`Well, then, supposing we go and call on HIM?' suggested the
Mole.

`O, I'm sure he wouldn't like that at ALL,' said the Rat,
quite alarmed. `He's so very shy, he'd be sure to be offended.
I've never even ventured to call on him at his own home myself,
though I know him so well. Besides, we can't. It's quite out of
the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild
Wood.'

`Well, supposing he does,' said the Mole. `You told me the Wild
Wood was all right, you know.'

`O, I know, I know, so it is,' replied the Rat evasively. `But I
think we won't go there just now. Not JUST yet. It's a long
way, and he wouldn't be at home at this time of year anyhow, and
he'll be coming along some day, if you'll wait quietly.'

The Mole had to be content with this. But the Badger never came
along, and every day brought its amusements, and it was not till
summer was long over, and cold and frost and miry ways kept them
much indoors, and the swollen river raced past outside their
windows with a speed that mocked at boating of any sort or
kind, that he found his thoughts dwelling again with much
persistence on the solitary grey Badger, who lived his own life
by himself, in his hole in the middle of the Wild Wood.

In the winter time the Rat slept a great deal, retiring early and
rising late. During his short day he sometimes scribbled poetry
or did other small domestic jobs about the house; and, of course,
there were always animals dropping in for a chat, and
consequently there was a good deal of story-telling and comparing
notes on the past summer and all its doings.

Such a rich chapter it had been, when one came to look back on it
all! With illustrations so numerous and so very highly coloured!
The pageant of the river bank had marched steadily along,
unfolding itself in scene-pictures that succeeded each other in
stately procession. Purple loosestrife arrived early, shaking
luxuriant tangled locks along the edge of the mirror whence its
own face laughed back at it. Willow-herb, tender and wistful,
like a pink sunset cloud, was not slow to follow. Comfrey, the
purple hand-in-hand with the white, crept forth to take its place
in the line; and at last one morning the diffident and
delaying dog-rose stepped delicately on the stage, and one knew,
as if string-music had announced it in stately chords that
strayed into a gavotte, that June at last was here. One member
of the company was still awaited; the shepherd-boy for the nymphs
to woo, the knight for whom the ladies waited at the window, the
prince that was to kiss the sleeping summer back to life and
love. But when meadow-sweet, debonair and odorous in amber
jerkin, moved graciously to his place in the group, then the play
was ready to begin.

And what a play it had been! Drowsy animals, snug in their holes
while wind and rain were battering at their doors, recalled still
keen mornings, an hour before sunrise, when the white mist, as
yet undispersed, clung closely along the surface of the water;
then the shock of the early plunge, the scamper along the bank,
and the radiant transformation of earth, air, and water, when
suddenly the sun was with them again, and grey was gold and
colour was born and sprang out of the earth once more. They
recalled the languorous siesta of hot mid-day, deep in green
undergrowth, the sun striking through in tiny golden shafts and
spots; the boating and bathing of the afternoon, the rambles
along dusty lanes and through yellow cornfields; and the long,
cool evening at last, when so many threads were gathered up, so
many friendships rounded, and so many adventures planned for the
morrow. There was plenty to talk about on those short winter
days when the animals found themselves round the fire; still, the
Mole had a good deal of spare time on his hands, and so one
afternoon, when the Rat in his arm-chair before the blaze was
alternately dozing and trying over rhymes that wouldn't fit, he
formed the resolution to go out by himself and explore the Wild
Wood, and perhaps strike up an acquaintance with Mr. Badger.

It was a cold still afternoon with a hard steely sky overhead,
when he slipped out of the warm parlour into the open air. The
country lay bare and entirely leafless around him, and he thought
that he had never seen so far and so intimately into the insides
of things as on that winter day when Nature was deep in her
annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the clothes off.
Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden places, which had been
mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now exposed
themselves and their secrets pathetically, and seemed to ask him
to overlook their shabby poverty for a while, till they could
riot in rich masquerade as before, and trick and entice him with
the old deceptions. It was pitiful in a way, and yet cheering--
even exhilarating. He was glad that he liked the country
undecorated, hard, and stripped of its finery. He had got down
to the bare bones of it, and they were fine and strong and
simple. He did not want the warm clover and the play of seeding
grasses; the screens of quickset, the billowy drapery of beech
and elm seemed best away; and with great cheerfulness of spirit
he pushed on towards the Wild Wood, which lay before him low and
threatening, like a black reef in some still southern sea.

There was nothing to alarm him at first entry. Twigs crackled
under his feet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps resembled
caricatures, and startled him for the moment by their likeness to
something familiar and far away; but that was all fun, and
exciting. It led him on, and he penetrated to where the light
was less, and trees crouched nearer and nearer, and holes
made ugly mouths at him on either side.

Everything was very still now. The dusk advanced on him
steadily, rapidly, gathering in behind and before; and the light
seemed to be draining away like flood-water.

Then the faces began.

It was over his shoulder, and indistinctly, that he first thought
he saw a face; a little evil wedge-shaped face, looking out at
him from a hole. When he turned and confronted it, the thing had
vanished.

He quickened his pace, telling himself cheerfully not to begin
imagining things, or there would be simply no end to it. He
passed another hole, and another, and another; and then--yes!--
no!--yes! certainly a little narrow face, with hard eyes, had
flashed up for an instant from a hole, and was gone. He
hesitated--braced himself up for an effort and strode on. Then
suddenly, and as if it had been so all the time, every hole, far
and near, and there were hundreds of them, seemed to possess its
face, coming and going rapidly, all fixing on him glances of
malice and hatred: all hard-eyed and evil and sharp.

If he could only get away from the holes in the banks, he
thought, there would be no more faces. He swung off the path and
plunged into the untrodden places of the wood.

Then the whistling began.

Very faint and shrill it was, and far behind him, when first he
heard it; but somehow it made him hurry forward. Then, still
very faint and shrill, it sounded far ahead of him, and made him
hesitate and want to go back. As he halted in indecision it
broke out on either side, and seemed to be caught up and passed
on throughout the whole length of the wood to its farthest limit.
They were up and alert and ready, evidently, whoever they were!
And he--he was alone, and unarmed, and far from any help; and the
night was closing in.

Then the pattering began.

He thought it was only falling leaves at first, so slight and
delicate was the sound of it. Then as it grew it took a regular
rhythm, and he knew it for nothing else but the pat-pat-pat of
little feet still a very long way off. Was it in front or
behind? It seemed to be first one, and then the other, then
both. It grew and it multiplied, till from every quarter as
he listened anxiously, leaning this way and that, it seemed to be
closing in on him. As he stood still to hearken, a rabbit came
running hard towards him through the trees. He waited, expecting
it to slacken pace, or to swerve from him into a different
course. Instead, the animal almost brushed him as it dashed
past, his face set and hard, his eyes staring. `Get out of this,
you fool, get out!' the Mole heard him mutter as he swung round a
stump and disappeared down a friendly burrow.

The pattering increased till it sounded like sudden hail on the
dry leaf-carpet spread around him. The whole wood seemed running
now, running hard, hunting, chasing, closing in round something
or--somebody? In panic, he began to run too, aimlessly, he knew
not whither. He ran up against things, he fell over things and
into things, he darted under things and dodged round things. At
last he took refuge in the deep dark hollow of an old beech tree,
which offered shelter, concealment--perhaps even safety, but who
could tell? Anyhow, he was too tired to run any further, and
could only snuggle down into the dry leaves which had drifted
into the hollow and hope he was safe for a time. And as he lay
there panting and trembling, and listened to the whistlings and
the patterings outside, he knew it at last, in all its fullness,
that dread thing which other little dwellers in field and
hedgerow had encountered here, and known as their darkest
moment--that thing which the Rat had vainly tried to shield him
from--the Terror of the Wild Wood!

Meantime the Rat, warm and comfortable, dozed by his fireside.
His paper of half-finished verses slipped from his knee, his head
fell back, his mouth opened, and he wandered by the verdant banks
of dream-rivers. Then a coal slipped, the fire crackled and sent
up a spurt of flame, and he woke with a start. Remembering what
he had been engaged upon, he reached down to the floor for his
verses, pored over them for a minute, and then looked round for
the Mole to ask him if he knew a good rhyme for something or
other.

But the Mole was not there.

He listened for a time. The house seemed very quiet.

Then he called `Moly!' several times, and, receiving no
answer, got up and went out into the hall.

The Mole's cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His
goloshes, which always lay by the umbrella-stand, were also gone.

The Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy surface
of the ground outside, hoping to find the Mole's tracks. There
they were, sure enough. The goloshes were new, just bought for
the winter, and the pimples on their soles were fresh and sharp.
He could see the imprints of them in the mud, running along
straight and purposeful, leading direct to the Wild Wood.

The Rat looked very grave, and stood in deep thought for a minute
or two. Then he re-entered the house, strapped a belt round his
waist, shoved a brace of pistols into it, took up a stout cudgel
that stood in a corner of the hall, and set off for the Wild Wood
at a smart pace.

It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first
fringe of trees and plunged without hesitation into the wood,
looking anxiously on either side for any sign of his friend.
Here and there wicked little faces popped out of holes, but
vanished immediately at sight of the valorous animal, his
pistols, and the great ugly cudgel in his grasp; and the
whistling and pattering, which he had heard quite plainly on his
first entry, died away and ceased, and all was very still. He
made his way manfully through the length of the wood, to its
furthest edge; then, forsaking all paths, he set himself to
traverse it, laboriously working over the whole ground, and all
the time calling out cheerfully, `Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are
you? It's me--it's old Rat!'

He had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or more,
when at last to his joy he heard a little answering cry. Guiding
himself by the sound, he made his way through the gathering
darkness to the foot of an old beech tree, with a hole in it, and
from out of the hole came a feeble voice, saying `Ratty! Is that
really you?'

The Rat crept into the hollow, and there he found the Mole,
exhausted and still trembling. `O Rat!' he cried, `I've been so
frightened, you can't think!'

`O, I quite understand,' said the Rat soothingly. `You shouldn't
really have gone and done it, Mole. I did my best to keep
you from it. We river-bankers, we hardly ever come here by
ourselves. If we have to come, we come in couples, at least;
then we're generally all right. Besides, there are a hundred
things one has to know, which we understand all about and you
don't, as yet. I mean passwords, and signs, and sayings which
have power and effect, and plants you carry in your pocket, and
verses you repeat, and dodges and tricks you practise; all simple
enough when you know them, but they've got to be known if you're
small, or you'll find yourself in trouble. Of course if you were
Badger or Otter, it would be quite another matter.'

`Surely the brave Mr. Toad wouldn't mind coming here by himself,
would he?' inquired the Mole.

`Old Toad?' said the Rat, laughing heartily. `He wouldn't show
his face here alone, not for a whole hatful of golden guineas,
Toad wouldn't.'

The Mole was greatly cheered by the sound of the Rat's careless
laughter, as well as by the sight of his stick and his gleaming
pistols, and he stopped shivering and began to feel bolder and
more himself again.

`Now then,' said the Rat presently, `we really must pull
ourselves together and make a start for home while there's still
a little light left. It will never do to spend the night here,
you understand. Too cold, for one thing.'

`Dear Ratty,' said the poor Mole, `I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm
simply dead beat and that's a solid fact. You MUST let me
rest here a while longer, and get my strength back, if I'm to get
home at all.'

`O, all right,' said the good-natured Rat, `rest away. It's
pretty nearly pitch dark now, anyhow; and there ought to be a bit
of a moon later.'

So the Mole got well into the dry leaves and stretched himself
out, and presently dropped off into sleep, though of a broken and
troubled sort; while the Rat covered himself up, too, as best he
might, for warmth, and lay patiently waiting, with a pistol in
his paw.

When at last the Mole woke up, much refreshed and in his usual
spirits, the Rat said, `Now then! I'll just take a look outside
and see if everything's quiet, and then we really must be off.'

He went to the entrance of their retreat and put his head
out. Then the Mole heard him saying quietly to himself, `Hullo!
hullo! here-- is--a--go!'

`What's up, Ratty?' asked the Mole.

`SNOW is up,' replied the Rat briefly; `or rather, DOWN.
It's snowing hard.'

The Mole came and crouched beside him, and, looking out, saw the
wood that had been so dreadful to him in quite a changed aspect.
Holes, hollows, pools, pitfalls, and other black menaces to the
wayfarer were vanishing fast, and a gleaming carpet of faery was
springing up everywhere, that looked too delicate to be trodden
upon by rough feet. A fine powder filled the air and caressed
the cheek with a tingle in its touch, and the black boles of the
trees showed up in a light that seemed to come from below.

`Well, well, it can't be helped,' said the Rat, after pondering.
`We must make a start, and take our chance, I suppose. The worst
of it is, I don't exactly know where we are. And now this snow
makes everything look so very different.'

It did indeed. The Mole would not have known that it was the
same wood. However, they set out bravely, and took the line
that seemed most promising, holding on to each other and
pretending with invincible cheerfulness that they recognized an
old friend in every fresh tree that grimly and silently greeted
them, or saw openings, gaps, or paths with a familiar turn in
them, in the monotony of white space and black tree-trunks that
refused to vary.

An hour or two later--they had lost all count of time--they
pulled up, dispirited, weary, and hopelessly at sea, and sat down
on a fallen tree-trunk to recover their breath and consider what
was to be done. They were aching with fatigue and bruised with
tumbles; they had fallen into several holes and got wet through;
the snow was getting so deep that they could hardly drag their
little legs through it, and the trees were thicker and more like
each other than ever. There seemed to be no end to this wood,
and no beginning, and no difference in it, and, worst of all, no
way out.

`We can't sit here very long,' said the Rat. `We shall have to
make another push for it, and do something or other. The cold is
too awful for anything, and the snow will soon be too deep for us
to wade through.'  He peered about him and considered. `Look
here,' he went on, `this is what occurs to me. There's a sort of
dell down here in front of us, where the ground seems all hilly
and humpy and hummocky. We'll make our way down into that, and
try and find some sort of shelter, a cave or hole with a dry
floor to it, out of the snow and the wind, and there we'll have a
good rest before we try again, for we're both of us pretty dead
beat. Besides, the snow may leave off, or something may turn
up.'

So once more they got on their feet, and struggled down into the
dell, where they hunted about for a cave or some corner that was
dry and a protection from the keen wind and the whirling snow.
They were investigating one of the hummocky bits the Rat had
spoken of, when suddenly the Mole tripped up and fell forward on
his face with a squeal.

`O my leg!' he cried. `O my poor shin!' and he sat up on the
snow and nursed his leg in both his front paws.

`Poor old Mole!' said the Rat kindly.

`You don't seem to be having much luck to-day, do you? Let's
have a look at the leg. Yes,' he went on, going down on his
knees to look, `you've cut your shin, sure enough. Wait till
I get at my handkerchief, and I'll tie it up for you.'

`I must have tripped over a hidden branch or a stump,' said the
Mole miserably. `O, my! O, my!'

`It's a very clean cut,' said the Rat, examining it again
attentively. `That was never done by a branch or a stump. Looks
as if it was made by a sharp edge of something in metal. Funny!'
He pondered awhile, and examined the humps and slopes that
surrounded them.

`Well, never mind what done it,' said the Mole, forgetting his
grammar in his pain. `It hurts just the same, whatever done it.'

But the Rat, after carefully tying up the leg with his
handkerchief, had left him and was busy scraping in the snow. He
scratched and shovelled and explored, all four legs working
busily, while the Mole waited impatiently, remarking at
intervals, `O, COME on, Rat!'

Suddenly the Rat cried `Hooray!' and then `Hooray-oo-ray-oo-ray-
oo-ray!' and fell to executing a feeble jig in the snow.

`What HAVE you found, Ratty?' asked the Mole, still nursing
his leg.

`Come and see!' said the delighted Rat, as he jigged on.

The Mole hobbled up to the spot and had a good look.

`Well,' he said at last, slowly, `I SEE it right enough. Seen
the same sort of thing before, lots of times. Familiar object, I
call it. A door-scraper! Well, what of it? Why dance jigs
around a door-scraper?'

`But don't you see what it MEANS, you--you dull-witted
animal?' cried the Rat impa-tiently.

`Of course I see what it means,' replied the Mole. `It simply
means that some VERY careless and forgetful person has left
his door-scraper lying about in the middle of the Wild Wood,
JUST where it's SURE to trip EVERYBODY up. Very
thoughtless of him, I call it. When I get home I shall go and
complain about it to--to somebody or other, see if I don't!'

`O, dear! O, dear!' cried the Rat, in despair at his obtuseness.
`Here, stop arguing and come and scrape!'  And he set to work
again and made the snow fly in all directions around him.

After some further toil his efforts were rewarded, and a very
shabby door-mat lay exposed to view.

`There, what did I tell you?' exclaimed the Rat in great triumph.

`Absolutely nothing whatever,' replied the Mole, with perfect
truthfulness. `Well now,' he went on, `you seem to have found
another piece of domestic litter, done for and thrown away, and I
suppose you're perfectly happy. Better go ahead and dance your
jig round that if you've got to, and get it over, and then
perhaps we can go on and not waste any more time over rubbish-
heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-mat? Or
sit on a door-mat and sledge home over the snow on it, you
exasperating rodent?'

`Do--you--mean--to--say,' cried the excited Rat, `that this door-
mat doesn't TELL you anything?'

`Really, Rat,' said the Mole, quite pettishly, `I think we'd had
enough of this folly. Who ever heard of a door-mat TELLING
anyone anything? They simply don't do it. They are not that
sort at all. Door-mats know their place.'

`Now look here, you--you thick-headed beast,' replied the Rat,
really angry, `this must stop. Not another word, but scrape--
scrape and scratch and dig and hunt round, especially on the
sides of the hummocks, if you want to sleep dry and warm to-
night, for it's our last chance!'

The Rat attacked a snow-bank beside them with ardour, probing
with his cudgel everywhere and then digging with fury; and the
Mole scraped busily too, more to oblige the Rat than for any
other reason, for his opinion was that his friend was getting
light-headed.

Some ten minutes' hard work, and the point of the Rat's cudgel
struck something that sounded hollow. He worked till he could
get a paw through and feel; then called the Mole to come and help
him. Hard at it went the two animals, till at last the result of
their labours stood full in view of the astonished and hitherto
incredulous Mole.

In the side of what had seemed to be a snow-bank stood a solid-
looking little door, painted a dark green. An iron bell-pull
hung by the side, and below it, on a small brass plate, neatly
engraved in square capital letters, they could read by the aid of
moonlight
                                MR. BADGER.

The Mole fell backwards on the snow from sheer surprise and
delight. `Rat!' he cried in penitence, `you're a wonder! A
real wonder, that's what you are. I see it all now! You argued
it out, step by step, in that wise head of yours, from the very
moment that I fell and cut my shin, and you looked at the cut,
and at once your majestic mind said to itself, "Door-scraper!"
And then you turned to and found the very door-scraper that done
it! Did you stop there? No. Some people would have been quite
satisfied; but not you. Your intellect went on working. "Let me
only just find a door-mat," says you to yourself, "and my theory
is proved!"  And of course you found your door-mat. You're so
clever, I believe you could find anything you liked. "Now," says
you, "that door exists, as plain as if I saw it. There's nothing
else remains to be done but to find it!"  Well, I've read about
that sort of thing in books, but I've never come across it before
in real life. You ought to go where you'll be properly
appreciated. You're simply wasted here, among us fellows. If I
only had your head, Ratty----'

`But as you haven't,' interrupted the Rat, rather unkindly, `I
suppose you're going to sit on the snow all night and TALK
Get up at once and hang on to that bell-pull you see there,
and ring hard, as hard as you can, while I hammer!'

While the Rat attacked the door with his stick, the Mole sprang
up at the bell-pull, clutched it and swung there, both feet well
off the ground, and from quite a long way off they could faintly
hear a deep-toned bell respond.

IV

MR. BADGER

THEY waited patiently for what seemed a very long time, stamping
in the snow to keep their feet warm. At last they heard the
sound of slow shuflling footsteps approaching the door from the
inside. It seemed, as the Mole remarked to the Rat, like some
one walking in carpet slippers that were too large for him and
down at heel; which was intelligent of Mole, because that was
exactly what it was.

There was the noise of a bolt shot back, and the door opened a
few inches, enough to show a long snout and a pair of sleepy
blinking eyes.

`Now, the VERY next time this happens,' said a gruff and
suspicious voice, `I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it
THIS time, disturbing people on such a night? Speak up!'

`Oh, Badger,' cried the Rat, `let us in, please. It's
me, Rat, and my friend Mole, and we've lost our way in the snow.'

`What, Ratty, my dear little man!' exclaimed the Badger, in quite
a different voice. `Come along in, both of you, at once. Why,
you must be perished. Well I never! Lost in the snow! And in
the Wild Wood, too, and at this time of night! But come in with
you.'

The two animals tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get
inside, and heard the door shut behind them with great joy and
relief.

The Badger, who wore a long dressing-gown, and whose slippers
were indeed very down at heel, carried a flat candlestick in his
paw and had probably been on his way to bed when their summons
sounded. He looked kindly down on them and patted both their
heads. `This is not the sort of night for small animals to be
out,' he said paternally. `I'm afraid you've been up to some of
your pranks again, Ratty. But come along; come into the kitchen.
There's a first-rate fire there, and supper and everything.'

He shuffled on in front of them, carrying the light, and they
followed him, nudging each other in an anticipating sort of way,
down a long, gloomy, and, to tell the truth, decidedly shabby
passage, into a sort of a central hall; out of which they could
dimly see other long tunnel-like passages branching, passages
mysterious and without apparent end. But there were doors in the
hall as well--stout oaken comfortable-looking doors. One of
these the Badger flung open, and at once they found themselves in
all the glow and warmth of a large fire-lit kitchen.

The floor was well-worn red brick, and on the wide hearth burnt a
fire of logs, between two attractive chimney-corners tucked away
in the wall, well out of any suspicion of draught. A couple of
high-backed settles, facing each other on either side of the
fire, gave further sitting accommodations for the sociably
disposed. In the middle of the room stood a long table of plain
boards placed on trestles, with benches down each side. At one
end of it, where an arm-chair stood pushed back, were spread the
remains of the Badger's plain but ample supper. Rows of spotless
plates winked from the shelves of the dresser at the far end of
the room, and from the rafters overhead hung hams, bundles of
dried herbs, nets of onions, and baskets of eggs. It seemed
a place where heroes could fitly feast after victory, where weary
harvesters could line up in scores along the table and keep their
Harvest Home with mirth and song, or where two or three friends
of simple tastes could sit about as they pleased and eat and
smoke and talk in comfort and contentment. The ruddy brick floor
smiled up at the smoky ceiling; the oaken settles, shiny with
long wear, exchanged cheerful glances with each other; plates on
the dresser grinned at pots on the shelf, and the merry firelight
flickered and played over everything without distinction.

The kindly Badger thrust them down on a settle to toast
themselves at the fire, and bade them remove their wet coats and
boots. Then he fetched them dressing-gowns and slippers, and
himself bathed the Mole's shin with warm water and mended the cut
with sticking-plaster till the whole thing was just as good as
new, if not better. In the embracing light and warmth, warm and
dry at last, with weary legs propped up in front of them, and a
suggestive clink of plates being arranged on the table behind, it
seemed to the storm-driven animals, now in safe anchorage,
that the cold and trackless Wild Wood just left outside was miles
and miles away, and all that they had suffered in it a half-
forgotten dream.

When at last they were thoroughly toasted, the Badger summoned
them to the table, where he had been busy laying a repast. They
had felt pretty hungry before, but when they actually saw at last
the supper that was spread for them, really it seemed only a
question of what they should attack first where all was so
attractive, and whether the other things would obligingly wait
for them till they had time to give them attention. Conversation
was impossible for a long time; and when it was slowly resumed,
it was that regrettable sort of conversation that results from
talking with your mouth full. The Badger did not mind that sort
of thing at all, nor did he take any notice of elbows on the
table, or everybody speaking at once. As he did not go into
Society himself, he had got an idea that these things belonged to
the things that didn't really matter. (We know of course that he
was wrong, and took too narrow a view; because they do matter
very much, though it would take too long to explain why.)  He
sat in his arm-chair at the head of the table, and nodded gravely
at intervals as the animals told their story; and he did not seem
surprised or shocked at anything, and he never said, `I told you
so,' or, `Just what I always said,' or remarked that they ought
to have done so-and-so, or ought not to have done something else.
The Mole began to feel very friendly towards him.

When supper was really finished at last, and each animal felt
that his skin was now as tight as was decently safe, and that by
this time he didn't care a hang for anybody or anything, they
gathered round the glowing embers of the great wood fire, and
thought how jolly it was to be sitting up SO late, and SO
independent, and SO full; and after they had chatted for a
time about things in general, the Badger said heartily, `Now
then! tell us the news from your part of the world. How's old
Toad going on?'

`Oh, from bad to worse,' said the Rat gravely, while the Mole,
cocked up on a settle and basking in the firelight, his heels
higher than his head, tried to look properly mournful. `Another
smash-up only last week, and a bad one. You see, he will insist
on driving himself, and he's hopelessly incapable. If he'd
only employ a decent, steady, well-trained animal, pay him good
wages, and leave everything to him, he'd get on all right. But
no; he's convinced he's a heaven-born driver, and nobody can
teach him anything; and all the rest follows.'

`How many has he had?' inquired the Badger gloomily.

`Smashes, or machines?' asked the Rat. `Oh, well, after all,
it's the same thing--with Toad. This is the seventh. As for the
others--you know that coach-house of his? Well, it's piled up--
literally piled up to the roof--with fragments of motor-cars,
none of them bigger than your hat! That accounts for the other
six--so far as they can be accounted for.'

`He's been in hospital three times,' put in the Mole; `and as for
the fines he's had to pay, it's simply awful to think of.'

`Yes, and that's part of the trouble,' continued the Rat.
`Toad's rich, we all know; but he's not a millionaire. And he's
a hopelessly bad driver, and quite regardless of law and order.
Killed or ruined--it's got to be one of the two things,
sooner or later. Badger! we're his friends--oughtn't we to do
something?'

The Badger went through a bit of hard thinking. `Now look here!'
he said at last, rather severely; `of course you know I can't do
anything NOW?'

His two friends assented, quite understanding his point. No
animal, according to the rules of animal-etiquette, is ever
expected to do anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately
active during the off-season of winter. All are sleepy--some
actually asleep. All are weather-bound, more or less; and all
are resting from arduous days and nights, during which every
muscle in them has been severely tested, and every energy kept at
full stretch.

`Very well then!' continued the Badger. `BUT, when once the
year has really turned, and the nights are shorter, and halfway
through them one rouses and feels fidgety and wanting to be up
and doing by sunrise, if not before--YOU know!----'

Both animals nodded gravely. THEY knew!

`Well, THEN,' went on the Badger, `we--that is, you and me and
our friend the Mole here--we'll take Toad seriously in hand.
We'll stand no nonsense whatever. We'll bring him back to
reason, by force if need be. We'll MAKE him be a sensible
Toad. We'll--you're asleep, Rat!'

`Not me!' said the Rat, waking up with a jerk.

`He's been asleep two or three times since supper,' said the
Mole, laughing. He himself was feeling quite wakeful and even
lively, though he didn't know why. The reason was, of course,
that he being naturally an underground animal by birth and
breeding, the situation of Badger's house exactly suited him and
made him feel at home; while the Rat, who slept every night in a
bedroom the windows of which opened on a breezy river, naturally
felt the atmosphere still and oppressive.

`Well, it's time we were all in bed,' said the Badger, getting up
and fetching flat candlesticks. `Come along, you two, and I'll
show you your quarters. And take your time tomorrow morning--
breakfast at any hour you please!'

He conducted the two animals to a long room that seemed half
bedchamber and half loft. The Badger's winter stores, which
indeed were visible everywhere, took up half the room--piles
of apples, turnips, and potatoes, baskets full of nuts, and jars
of honey; but the two little white beds on the remainder of the
floor looked soft and inviting, and the linen on them, though
coarse, was clean and smelt beautifully of lavender; and the Mole
and the Water Rat, shaking off their garments in some thirty
seconds, tumbled in between the sheets in great joy and
contentment.

In accordance with the kindly Badger's injunctions, the two tired
animals came down to breakfast very late next morning, and found
a bright fire burning in the kitchen, and two young hedgehogs
sitting on a bench at the table, eating oatmeal porridge out of
wooden bowls. The hedgehogs dropped their spoons, rose to their
feet, and ducked their heads respectfully as the two entered.

`There, sit down, sit down,' said the Rat pleasantly, `and go on
with your porridge. Where have you youngsters come from? Lost
your way in the snow, I suppose?'

`Yes, please, sir,' said the elder of the two hedgehogs
respectfully. `Me and little Billy here, we was trying to find
our way to school--mother WOULD have us go, was the
weather ever so--and of course we lost ourselves, sir, and Billy
he got frightened and took and cried, being young and faint-
hearted. And at last we happened up against Mr. Badger's back
door, and made so bold as to knock, sir, for Mr. Badger he's a
kind-hearted gentleman, as everyone knows----'

`I understand,' said the Rat, cutting himself some rashers from a
side of bacon, while the Mole dropped some eggs into a saucepan.
`And what's the weather like outside? You needn't "sir" me quite
so much?' he added.

`O, terrible bad, sir, terrible deep the snow is,' said the
hedgehog. `No getting out for the likes of you gentlemen to-
day.'

`Where's Mr. Badger?' inquired the Mole, as he warmed the coffee-
pot before the fire.

`The master's gone into his study, sir,' replied the hedgehog,
`and he said as how he was going to be particular busy this
morning, and on no account was he to be disturbed.'

This explanation, of course, was thoroughly understood by every
one present. The fact is, as already set forth, when you live a
life of intense activity for six months in the year, and of
comparative or actual somnolence for the other six, during the
latter period you cannot be continually pleading sleepiness when
there are people about or things to be done. The excuse gets
monotonous. The animals well knew that Badger, having eaten a
hearty breakfast, had retired to his study and settled himself in
an arm-chair with his legs up on another and a red cotton
handkerchief over his face, and was being `busy' in the usual way
at this time of the year.

The front-door bell clanged loudly, and the Rat, who was very
greasy with buttered toast, sent Billy, the smaller hedgehog, to
see who it might be. There was a sound of much stamping in the
hall, and presently Billy returned in front of the Otter, who
threw himself on the Rat with an embrace and a shout of
affectionate greeting.

`Get off!' spluttered the Rat, with his mouth full.

`Thought I should find you here all right,' said the Otter
cheerfully. `They were all in a great state of alarm along River
Bank when I arrived this morning. Rat never been home all
night--nor Mole either--something dreadful must have
happened, they said; and the snow had covered up all your tracks,
of course. But I knew that when people were in any fix they
mostly went to Badger, or else Badger got to know of it somehow,
so I came straight off here, through the Wild Wood and the snow!
My! it was fine, coming through the snow as the red sun was
rising and showing against the black tree-trunks! As you went
along in the stillness, every now and then masses of snow slid
off the branches suddenly with a flop! making you jump and run
for cover. Snow-castles and snow-caverns had sprung up out of
nowhere in the night--and snow bridges, terraces, ramparts--I
could have stayed and played with them for hours. Here and there
great branches had been torn away by the sheer weight of the
snow, and robins perched and hopped on them in their perky
conceited way, just as if they had done it themselves. A ragged
string of wild geese passed overhead, high on the grey sky, and a
few rooks whirled over the trees, inspected, and flapped off
homewards with a disgusted expression; but I met no sensible
being to ask the news of. About halfway across I came on a
rabbit sitting on a stump, cleaning his silly face with his
paws. He was a pretty scared animal when I crept up behind him
and placed a heavy forepaw on his shoulder. I had to cuff his
head once or twice to get any sense out of it at all. At last I
managed to extract from him that Mole had been seen in the Wild
Wood last night by one of them. It was the talk of the burrows,
he said, how Mole, Mr. Rat's particular friend, was in a bad fix;
how he had lost his way, and "They" were up and out hunting, and
were chivvying him round and round. "Then why didn't any of you
DO something?" I asked. "You m