Chapter: The Mole had long wanted to make the 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 corn-fields; 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 fulness, 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!

[Illustration: _In panic, he began to run_]

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 recognised 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 impatiently.

"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 door-mat? 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've had
enough of this folly. Who ever heard of a door-mat _telling_ any one
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.



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
shuffling 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 half-way 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 to-morrow 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 every one 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 half-way 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 fore-paw 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
mayn't be blessed with brains, but there are hundreds and hundreds of
you, big, stout fellows, as fat as butter, and your burrows running in
all directions, and you could have taken him in and made him safe and
comfortable, or tried to, at all events.' 'What, _us_?' he merely
said: '_do_ something? us rabbits?' So I cuffed him again and left
him. There was nothing else to be done. At any rate, I had learnt
something; and if I had had the luck to meet any of 'Them' I'd have
learnt something more--or _they_ would."

[Illustration: _Through the Wild Wood and the snow_]

"Weren't you at all--er--nervous?" asked the Mole, some of yesterday's
terror coming back to him at the mention of the Wild Wood.

"Nervous?" The Otter showed a gleaming set of strong white teeth as he
laughed. "I'd give 'em nerves if any of them tried anything on with
me. Here, Mole, fry me some slices of ham, like the good little chap
you are. I'm frightfully hungry, and I've got any amount to say to
Ratty here. Haven't seen him for an age."

So the good-natured Mole, having cut some slices of ham, set the
hedgehogs to fry it, and returned to his own breakfast, while the
Otter and the Rat, their heads together, eagerly talked river-shop,
which is long shop and talk that is endless, running on like the
babbling river itself.

A plate of fried ham had just been cleared and sent back for more,
when the Badger entered, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and greeted
them all in his quiet, simple way, with kind inquiries for every one.
"It must be getting on for luncheon time," he remarked to the Otter.
"Better stop and have it with us. You must be hungry, this cold
morning."

"Rather!" replied the Otter, winking at the Mole. "The sight of these
greedy young hedgehogs stuffing themselves with fried ham makes me
feel positively famished."

The hedgehogs, who were just beginning to feel hungry again after
their porridge, and after working so hard at their frying, looked
timidly up at Mr. Badger, but were too shy to say anything.

"Here, you two youngsters, be off home to your mother," said the
Badger kindly. "I'll send some one with you to show you the way. You
won't want any dinner to-day, I'll be bound."

He gave them sixpence a-piece and a pat on the head, and they went off
with much respectful swinging of caps and touching of forelocks.

Presently they all sat down to luncheon together. The Mole found
himself placed next to Mr. Badger, and, as the other two were still
deep in river-gossip from which nothing could divert them, he took the
opportunity to tell Badger how comfortable and home-like it all felt
to him. "Once well underground," he said, "you know exactly where you
are. Nothing can happen to you, and nothing can get at you. You're
entirely your own master, and you don't have to consult anybody or
mind what they say. Things go on all the same overhead, and you let
'em, and don't bother about 'em. When you want to, up you go, and
there the things are, waiting for you."

The Badger simply beamed on him. "That's exactly what I say," he
replied. "There's no security, or peace and tranquillity, except
underground. And then, if your ideas get larger and you want to
expand--why, a dig and a scrape, and there you are! If you feel your
house is a bit too big, you stop up a hole or two, and there you are
again! No builders, no tradesmen, no remarks passed on you by fellows
looking over your wall, and, above all, no _weather_. Look at Rat,
now. A couple of feet of flood water, and he's got to move into hired
lodgings; uncomfortable, inconveniently situated, and horribly
expensive. Take Toad. I say nothing against Toad Hall; quite the best
house in these parts, _as_ a house. But supposing a fire breaks
out--where's Toad? Supposing tiles are blown off, or walls sink or
crack, or windows get broken--where's Toad? Supposing the rooms are
draughty--I _hate_ a draught myself--where's Toad? No, up and out of
doors is good enough to roam about and get one's living in; but
underground to come back to at last--that's my idea of _home_!"

The Mole assented heartily; and the Badger in consequence got very
friendly with him. "When lunch is over," he said, "I'll take you all
round this little place of mine. I can see you'll appreciate it. You
understand what domestic architecture ought to be, you do."

After luncheon, accordingly, when the other two had settled themselves
into the chimney-corner and had started a heated argument on the
subject of _eels_, the Badger lighted a lantern and bade the Mole
follow him. Crossing the hall, they passed down one of the principal
tunnels, and the wavering light of the lantern gave glimpses on either
side of rooms both large and small, some mere cupboards, others
nearly as broad and imposing as Toad's dining-hall. A narrow passage
at right angles led them into another corridor, and here the same
thing was repeated. The Mole was staggered at the size, the extent,
the ramifications of it all; at the length of the dim passages, the
solid vaultings of the crammed store-chambers, the masonry everywhere,
the pillars, the arches, the pavements. "How on earth, Badger," he
said at last, "did you ever find time and strength to do all this?
It's astonishing!"

"It _would_ be astonishing indeed," said the Badger simply, "if I
_had_ done it. But as a matter of fact I did none of it--only cleaned
out the passages and chambers, as far as I had need of them. There's
lots more of it, all round about. I see you don't understand, and I
must explain it to you. Well, very long ago, on the spot where the
Wild Wood waves now, before ever it had planted itself and grown up to
what it now is, there was a city--a city of people, you know. Here,
where we are standing, they lived, and walked, and talked, and slept,
and carried on their business. Here they stabled their horses and
feasted, from here they rode out to fight or drove out to trade. They
were a powerful people, and rich, and great builders. They built to
last, for they thought their city would last for ever."

"But what has become of them all?" asked the Mole.

"Who can tell?" said the Badger. "People come--they stay for a while,
they flourish, they build--and they go. It is their way. But we
remain. There were badgers here, I've been told, long before that same
city ever came to be. And now there are badgers here again. We are an
enduring lot, and we may move out for a time, but we wait, and are
patient, and back we come. And so it will ever be."

"Well, and when they went at last, those people?" said the Mole.

"When they went," continued the Badger, "the strong winds and
persistent rains took the matter in hand, patiently, ceaselessly, year
after year. Perhaps we badgers too, in our small way, helped a
little--who knows? It was all down, down, down, gradually--ruin and
levelling and disappearance. Then it was all up, up, up, gradually, as
seeds grew to saplings, and saplings to forest trees, and bramble and
fern came creeping in to help. Leaf-mould rose and obliterated,
streams in their winter freshets brought sand and soil to clog and to
cover, and in course of time our home was ready for us again, and we
moved in. Up above us, on the surface, the same thing happened.
Animals arrived, liked the look of the place, took up their quarters,
settled down, spread, and flourished. They didn't bother themselves
about the past--they never do; they're too busy. The place was a bit
humpy and hillocky, naturally, and full of holes; but that was rather
an advantage. And they don't bother about the future, either--the
future when perhaps the people will move in again--for a time--as may
very well be. The Wild Wood is pretty well populated by now; with all
the usual lot, good, bad, and indifferent--I name no names. It takes
all sorts to make a world. But I fancy you know something about them
yourself by this time."

"I do indeed," said the Mole, with a slight shiver.

"Well, well," said the Badger, patting him on the shoulder, "it was
your first experience of them, you see. They're not so bad really; and
we must all live and let live. But I'll pass the word around
to-morrow, and I think you'll have no further trouble. Any friend of
_mine_ walks where he likes in this country, or I'll know the reason
why!"

When they got back to the kitchen again, they found the Rat walking up
and down, very restless. The underground atmosphere was oppressing him
and getting on his nerves, and he seemed really to be afraid that the
river would run away if he wasn't there to look after it. So he had
his overcoat on, and his pistols thrust into his belt again. "Come
along, Mole," he said anxiously, as soon as he caught sight of them.
"We must get off while it's daylight. Don't want to spend another
night in the Wild Wood again."

"It'll be all right, my fine fellow," said the Otter. "I'm coming
along with you, and I know every path blindfold; and if there's a
head that needs to be punched, you can confidently rely upon me to
punch it."

"You really needn't fret, Ratty," added the Badger placidly. "My
passages run further than you think, and I've bolt-holes to the edge
of the wood in several directions, though I don't care for everybody
to know about them. When you really have to go, you shall leave by one
of my short cuts. Meantime, make yourself easy, and sit down again."

The Rat was nevertheless still anxious to be off and attend to his
river, so the Badger, taking up his lantern again, led the way along a
damp and airless tunnel that wound and dipped, part vaulted, part hewn
through solid rock, for a weary distance that seemed to be miles. At
last daylight began to show itself confusedly through tangled growth
overhanging the mouth of the passage; and the Badger, bidding them a
hasty good-bye, pushed them hurriedly through the opening, made
everything look as natural as possible again, with creepers,
brushwood, and dead leaves, and retreated.

They found themselves standing on the very edge of the Wild Wood. Rocks
and brambles and tree-roots behind them, confusedly heaped and tangled;
in front, a great space of quiet fields, hemmed by lines of hedges black
on the snow, and, far ahead, a glint of the familiar old river, while
the wintry sun hung red and low on the horizon. The Otter, as knowing
all the paths, took charge of the party, and they trailed out on a
bee-line for a distant stile. Pausing there a moment and looking back,
they saw the whole mass of the Wild Wood, dense, menacing, compact,
grimly set in vast white surroundings; simultaneously they turned and
made swiftly for home, for firelight and the familiar things it played
on, for the voice, sounding cheerily outside their window, of the river
that they knew and trusted in all its moods, that never made them afraid
with any amazement.

As he hurried along, eagerly anticipating the moment when he would be
at home again among the things he knew and liked, the Mole saw clearly
that he was an animal of tilled field and hedgerow, linked to the
ploughed furrow, the frequented pasture, the lane of evening
lingerings, the cultivated garden-plot. For others the asperities, the
stubborn endurance, or the clash of actual conflict, that went with
Nature in the rough; he must be wise, must keep to the pleasant places
in which his lines were laid and which held adventure enough, in their
way, to last for a lifetime.

 "The Wild Wood" Chapter 3 - "The Wild Wood" Months after meeting Toad, Mole is curious about meeting the elusive Badger. He had hoped Badger might show up at Rat's house, but Rat keeps reminding Mole that Badger prefers solitude. As winter approaches, Rat begins napping for long periods of time, leaving Mole with the opportunity to sneak off into the Wild Wood to search for Badger himself. At first, Mole enjoys his afternoon stroll into the Wild Wood. Soon enough, though, the woods become haunting, as Mole begins to notice faces staring at him from holes in the ground. He then hears the terrifying patter of animals approaching, and he hides. He realizes he is in the midst of the Terror of the Wild Wood. Meanwhile, Rat wakes from his nap and realizes that Mole is gone. He notices Mole's footsteps leading to the Wild Wood, and packs some gear - including guns - to search for his friend. After hours of searching, he finds Mole deep within the woods. They start to return, but Mole is exhausted and needs a quick nap before continuing. Unfortunately, it starts snow during their nap, making the woods even more difficult to navigate. The two wander for hours, until they eventually stumble upon Badger's home. Chapter 4 - "Mr. Badger" Badger welcomes the two freezing animals inside, even though he is preparing for bed. He stokes the fire and gives them a full dinner, ignoring their bad table manners because of their hunger. They all stay up late, talking. When Badger mentions Toad, Rat reports that he has recently wrecked seven motor cars, and has been hospitalized three times. Apparently, Toad insists on driving himself, certain that he is a good driver. Badger makes Rat and Mole promise that they will all visit Toad in the spring, to convince him that his childish actions will either ruin, bankrupt, or kill him. The next morning, Mole and Rat wake in Badger's home. In the kitchen, they find two young hedgehogs eating oatmeal. The young animals had gotten lost in the snowstorm on their way to school, so Badger invited them to weather the storm there until it was safe. The hedgehogs explain that Badger has already eaten, and is spending time in his study. While breakfast is cooking, Otter comes through the door, with news that the river animals are worried about Rat and Mole's disappearance. Badger finally joins the group. He sends the two hedgehogs back home since the storm has stopped, and gives each of them a little money as a gift. Afterwards, he tours Mole around the house while Otter and Rat discuss the river. As they look around, Badger and Mole agree that they feel more comfortable underground, that living beneath the earth is easier than trying to build a house above ground. Mole asks Badger how he built such a grand home, and Badger admits that he found it, rather than building it. Before the woods became the Wild Wood, it had been a human town. The humans had initially pushed the animals away, but eventually abandoned the town. Now, animals have reclaimed the environment as their own. Mole and Badger return to the other animals, and Otter then leads Mole and Rat back to the river through one of Badger's tunnels. Chapter 4 introduces the novel's final main character, Badger. All we know about Badger thus far is that he is a solitary, gruff animal. He seems to show very little humor. When he realizes that Rat is out in the cold, however, he shows that such characteristics do not entirely define him. Instead, he reveals his true caring nature by inviting the cold animals inside, and changing his bedtime plans in order to accommodate them. Despite being somewhat grumpy and isolated, Badger nevertheless feels duty-bound to his friends . Badger represents the rugged man, someone who is self-sufficient and honorable despite a gruff exterior. Grahame is reminding us that we cannot always judge someone by their outward characteristics. Chapter 4 is also interesting because it features multiple instances of reverse anthropomorphism - a device whereby animals who are generally treated as humans show their natural animal traits. Here, we see the animals showing traits unique to their species. For instance, Rat feels confined underground at Badger's house, anxious to be separated from water and open air. Mole, on the other hand, feels more comfortable. While he loves learning from Rat - as humans do - he also feels drawn to an underground environment - as Moles do. It is an intriguing aspect of the novel, that the animals can be so human and yet remain tied to their animal natures.

