Chapter: The sheep ran huddling together against the hurdles, blowing out thin
nostrils and stamping with delicate fore-feet, their heads thrown back
and a light steam rising from the crowded sheep-pen into the frosty
air, as the two animals hastened by in high spirits, with much chatter
and laughter. They were returning across country after a long day's
outing with Otter, hunting and exploring on the wide uplands, where
certain streams tributary to their own River had their first small
beginnings; and the shades of the short winter day were closing in on
them, and they had still some distance to go. Plodding at random
across the plough, they had heard the sheep and had made for them; and
now, leading from the sheep-pen, they found a beaten track that made
walking a lighter business, and responded, moreover, to that small
inquiring something which all animals carry inside them, saying
unmistakably, "Yes, quite right; _this_ leads home!"

"It looks as if we were coming to a village," said the Mole somewhat
dubiously, slackening his pace, as the track, that had in time become
a path and then had developed into a lane, now handed them over to the
charge of a well-metalled road. The animals did not hold with
villages, and their own highways, thickly frequented as they were,
took an independent course, regardless of church, post-office, or
public-house.

"Oh, never mind!" said the Rat. "At this season of the year they're
all safe indoors by this time, sitting round the fire; men, women, and
children, dogs and cats and all. We shall slip through all right,
without any bother or unpleasantness, and we can have a look at them
through their windows if you like, and see what they're doing."

The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little village
as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery
snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red on either
side of the street, where the firelight or lamplight of each cottage
overflowed through the casements into the dark world without. Most of
the low latticed windows were innocent of blinds, and to the
lookers-in from outside, the inmates, gathered round the tea-table,
absorbed in handiwork, or talking with laughter and gesture, had each
that happy grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall
capture--the natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness of
observation. Moving at will from one theatre to another, the two
spectators, so far from home themselves, had something of wistfulness
in their eyes as they watched a cat being stroked, a sleepy child
picked up and huddled off to bed, or a tired man stretch and knock out
his pipe on the end of a smouldering log.

But it was from one little window, with its blind drawn down, a mere
blank transparency on the night, that the sense of home and the little
curtained world within walls--the larger stressful world of outside
Nature shut out and forgotten--most pulsated. Close against the white
blind hung a bird-cage, clearly silhouetted, every wire, perch, and
appurtenance distinct and recognisable, even to yesterday's dull-edged
lump of sugar. On the middle perch the fluffy occupant, head tucked
well into feathers, seemed so near to them as to be easily stroked,
had they tried; even the delicate tips of his plumped-out plumage
pencilled plainly on the illuminated screen. As they looked, the
sleepy little fellow stirred uneasily, woke, shook himself, and raised
his head. They could see the gape of his tiny beak as he yawned in a
bored sort of way, looked round, and then settled his head into his
back again, while the ruffled feathers gradually subsided into perfect
stillness. Then a gust of bitter wind took them in the back of the
neck, a small sting of frozen sleet on the skin woke them as from a
dream, and they knew their toes to be cold and their legs tired, and
their own home distant a weary way.

Once beyond the village, where the cottages ceased abruptly, on either
side of the road they could smell through the darkness the friendly
fields again; and they braced themselves for the last long stretch,
the home stretch, the stretch that we know is bound to end, some time,
in the rattle of the door-latch, the sudden firelight, and the sight
of familiar things greeting us as long-absent travellers from far
over-sea. They plodded along steadily and silently, each of them
thinking his own thoughts. The Mole's ran a good deal on supper, as it
was pitch-dark, and it was all a strange country for him as far as he
knew, and he was following obediently in the wake of the Rat, leaving
the guidance entirely to him. As for the Rat, he was walking a little
way ahead, as his habit was, his shoulders humped, his eyes fixed on
the straight grey road in front of him; so he did not notice poor Mole
when suddenly the summons reached him, and took him like an electric
shock.

We others, who have long lost the more subtle of the physical senses,
have not even proper terms to express an animal's inter-communications
with his surroundings, living or otherwise, and have only the word
"smell," for instance, to include the whole range of delicate thrills
which murmur in the nose of the animal night and day, summoning,
warning, inciting, repelling. It was one of these mysterious fairy
calls from out the void that suddenly reached Mole in the darkness,
making him tingle through and through with its very familiar appeal,
even while yet he could not clearly remember what it was. He stopped
dead in his tracks, his nose searching hither and thither in its
efforts to recapture the fine filament, the telegraphic current, that
had so strongly moved him. A moment, and he had caught it again; and
with it this time came recollection in fullest flood.

Home! That was what they meant, those caressing appeals, those soft
touches wafted through the air, those invisible little hands pulling
and tugging, all one way! Why, it must be quite close by him at that
moment, his old home that he had hurriedly forsaken and never sought
again, that day when he first found the River! And now it was sending
out its scouts and its messengers to capture him and bring him in.
Since his escape on that bright morning he had hardly given it a
thought, so absorbed had he been in his new life, in all its
pleasures, its surprises, its fresh and captivating experiences. Now,
with a rush of old memories, how clearly it stood up before him, in
the darkness! Shabby indeed, and small and poorly furnished, and yet
his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had been so happy
to get back to after his day's work. And the home had been happy with
him, too, evidently, and was missing him, and wanted him back, and was
telling him so, through his nose, sorrowfully, reproachfully, but with
no bitterness or anger; only with plaintive reminder that it was
there, and wanted him.

The call was clear, the summons was plain. He must obey it instantly,
and go. "Ratty!" he called, full of joyful excitement, "hold on! Come
back! I want you, quick!"

"Oh, _come_ along, Mole, do!" replied the Rat cheerfully, still
plodding along.

"_Please_ stop, Ratty!" pleaded the poor Mole, in anguish of heart.
"You don't understand! It's my home, my old home! I've just come
across the smell of it, and it's close by here, really quite close.
And I _must_ go to it, I must, I must! Oh, come back, Ratty! Please,
please come back!"

The Rat was by this time very far ahead, too far to hear clearly what
the Mole was calling, too far to catch the sharp note of painful
appeal in his voice. And he was much taken up with the weather, for he
too, could smell something--something suspiciously like approaching
snow.

"Mole, we mustn't stop now, really!" he called back. "We'll come for
it to-morrow, whatever it is you've found. But I daren't stop
now--it's late, and the snow's coming on again, and I'm not sure of
the way! And I want your nose, Mole, so come on quick, there's a good
fellow!" And the Rat pressed forward on his way without waiting for an
answer.

Poor Mole stood alone in the road, his heart torn asunder, and a big
sob gathering, gathering, somewhere low down inside him, to leap up to
the surface presently, he knew, in passionate escape. But even under
such a test as this his loyalty to his friend stood firm. Never for a
moment did he dream of abandoning him. Meanwhile, the wafts from his
old home pleaded, whispered, conjured, and finally claimed him
imperiously. He dared not tarry longer within their magic circle. With
a wrench that tore his very heart-strings he set his face down the
road and followed submissively in the track of the Rat, while faint,
thin little smells, still dogging his retreating nose, reproached him
for his new friendship and his callous forgetfulness.

With an effort he caught up to the unsuspecting Rat, who began
chattering cheerfully about what they would do when they got back, and
how jolly a fire of logs in the parlour would be, and what a supper he
meant to eat; never noticing his companion's silence and distressful
state of mind. At last, however, when they had gone some considerable
way further, and were passing some tree stumps at the edge of a copse
that bordered the road, he stopped and said kindly, "Look here, Mole,
old chap, you seem dead tired. No talk left in you, and your feet
dragging like lead. We'll sit down here for a minute and rest. The
snow has held off so far, and the best part of our journey is over."

The Mole subsided forlornly on a tree stump and tried to control
himself, for he felt it surely coming. The sob he had fought with so
long refused to be beaten. Up and up, it forced its way to the air,
and then another, and another, and others thick and fast; till poor
Mole at last gave up the struggle, and cried freely and helplessly and
openly, now that he knew it was all over and he had lost what he could
hardly be said to have found.

The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole's paroxysm of
grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very
quietly and sympathetically, "What is it, old fellow? Whatever can be
the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do."

Poor Mole found it difficult to get any words out between the
upheavals of his chest that followed one upon another so quickly and
held back speech and choked it as it came. "I know it's a--shabby,
dingy little place," he sobbed forth at last brokenly: "not like--your
cosy quarters--or Toad's beautiful hall--or Badger's great house--but
it was my own little home--and I was fond of it--and I went away and
forgot all about it--and then I smelt it suddenly--on the road, when I
called and you wouldn't listen, Rat--and everything came back to me
with a rush--and I _wanted_ it!--O dear, O dear!--and when you
_wouldn't_ turn back, Ratty--and I had to leave it, though I was
smelling it all the time--I thought my heart would break.--We might
have just gone and had one look at it, Ratty--only one look--it was
close by--but you wouldn't turn back, Ratty, you wouldn't turn back! O
dear, O dear!"

Recollection brought fresh waves of sorrow, and sobs again took full
charge of him, preventing further speech.

The Rat stared straight in front of him, saying nothing, only patting
Mole gently on the shoulder. After a time he muttered gloomily, "I see
it all now! What a _pig_ I have been! A pig--that's me! Just a pig--a
plain pig!"

He waited till Mole's sobs became gradually less stormy and more
rhythmical; he waited till at last sniffs were frequent and sobs only
intermittent. Then he rose from his seat, and, remarking carelessly,
"Well, now we'd really better be getting on, old chap!" set off up the
road again over the toilsome way they had come.

"Wherever are you (hic) going to (hic), Ratty?" cried the tearful
Mole, looking up in alarm.

"We're going to find that home of yours, old fellow," replied the Rat
pleasantly; "so you had better come along, for it will take some
finding, and we shall want your nose."

"Oh, come back, Ratty, do!" cried the Mole, getting up and hurrying
after him. "It's no good, I tell you! It's too late, and too dark, and
the place is too far off, and the snow's coming! And--and I never
meant to let you know I was feeling that way about it--it was all an
accident and a mistake! And think of River Bank, and your supper!"

"Hang River Bank, and supper, too!" said the Rat heartily. "I tell
you, I'm going to find this place now, if I stay out all night. So
cheer up, old chap, and take my arm, and we'll very soon be back there
again."

Still snuffling, pleading, and reluctant, Mole suffered himself to be
dragged back along the road by his imperious companion, who by a flow
of cheerful talk and anecdote endeavoured to beguile his spirits back
and make the weary way seem shorter. When at last it seemed to the Rat
that they must be nearing that part of the road where the Mole had
been "held up," he said, "Now, no more talking. Business! Use your
nose, and give your mind to it."

They moved on in silence for some little way, when suddenly the Rat
was conscious, through his arm that was linked in Mole's, of a faint
sort of electric thrill that was passing down that animal's body.
Instantly he disengaged himself, fell back a pace, and waited, all
attention.

The signals were coming through!

Mole stood a moment rigid, while his uplifted nose, quivering
slightly, felt the air.

Then a short, quick run forward--a fault--a check--a try back; and
then a slow, steady, confident advance.

The Rat, much excited, kept close to his heels as the Mole, with
something of the air of a sleep-walker, crossed a dry ditch, scrambled
through a hedge, and nosed his way over a field open and trackless and
bare in the faint starlight.

Suddenly, without giving warning, he dived; but the Rat was on the
alert, and promptly followed him down the tunnel to which his unerring
nose had faithfully led him.

It was close and airless, and the earthy smell was strong, and it
seemed a long time to Rat ere the passage ended and he could stand
erect and stretch and shake himself. The Mole struck a match, and by
its light the Rat saw that they were standing in an open space, neatly
swept and sanded underfoot, and directly facing them was Mole's little
front door, with "Mole End" painted, in Gothic lettering, over the
bell-pull at the side.

Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wall and lit it, and the
Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of fore-court. A
garden-seat stood on one side of the door, and on the other a roller;
for the Mole, who was a tidy animal when at home, could not stand having
his ground kicked up by other animals into little runs that ended in
earth-heaps. On the walls hung wire baskets with ferns in them,
alternating with brackets carrying plaster statuary--Garibaldi, and the
infant Samuel, and Queen Victoria, and other heroes of modern Italy.
Down on one side of the fore-court ran a skittle-alley, with benches
along it and little wooden tables marked with rings that hinted at
beer-mugs. In the middle was a small round pond containing gold-fish and
surrounded by a cockle-shell border. Out of the centre of the pond rose
a fanciful erection clothed in more cockle-shells and topped by a large
silvered glass ball that reflected everything all wrong and had a very
pleasing effect.

Mole's face beamed at the sight of all these objects so dear to him,
and he hurried Rat through the door, lit a lamp in the hall, and took
one glance round his old home. He saw the dust lying thick on
everything, saw the cheerless, deserted look of the long-neglected
house, and its narrow, meagre dimensions, its worn and shabby
contents--and collapsed again on a hall-chair, his nose to his paws.
"O Ratty!" he cried dismally, "why ever did I do it? Why did I bring
you to this poor, cold little place, on a night like this, when you
might have been at River Bank by this time, toasting your toes before
a blazing fire, with all your own nice things about you!"

The Rat paid no heed to his doleful self-reproaches. He was running
here and there, opening doors, inspecting rooms and cupboards, and
lighting lamps and candles and sticking them up everywhere. "What a
capital little house this is!" he called out cheerily. "So compact! So
well planned! Everything here and everything in its place! We'll make
a jolly night of it. The first thing we want is a good fire; I'll see
to that--I always know where to find things. So this is the parlour?
Splendid! Your own idea, those little sleeping-bunks in the wall?
Capital! Now, I'll fetch the wood and the coals, and you get a duster,
Mole--you'll find one in the drawer of the kitchen table--and try and
smarten things up a bit. Bustle about, old chap!"

Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and
dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running
to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up
the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole
promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in
dark despair and burying his face in his duster. "Rat," he moaned,
"how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've
nothing to give you--nothing--not a crumb!"

"What a fellow you are for giving in!" said the Rat reproachfully.
"Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser,
quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines
about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself
together, and come with me and forage."

They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and
turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after
all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines--a
box of captain's biscuits, nearly full--and a German sausage encased
in silver paper.

"There's a banquet for you!" observed the Rat, as he arranged the
table. "I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting
down to supper with us to-night!"

"No bread!" groaned the Mole dolorously; "no butter, no--"

"No _pate de foie gras_, no champagne!" continued the Rat, grinning.
"And that reminds me--what's that little door at the end of the
passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you
wait a minute."

He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty,
with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm,
"Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole," he observed. "Deny
yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was
in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so
home-like, they do. No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all
about it, and how you came to make it what it is."

Then, while the Rat busied himself fetching plates, and knives and
forks, and mustard which he mixed in an egg-cup, the Mole, his bosom
still heaving with the stress of his recent emotion, related--somewhat
shyly at first, but with more freedom as he warmed to his subject--how
this was planned, and how that was thought out, and how this was got
through a windfall from an aunt, and that was a wonderful find and a
bargain, and this other thing was bought out of laborious savings and
a certain amount of "going without." His spirits finally quite
restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and take a lamp
and show off their points to his visitor and expatiate on them, quite
forgetful of the supper they both so much needed; Rat, who was
desperately hungry but strove to conceal it, nodding seriously,
examining with a puckered brow, and saying, "wonderful," and "most
remarkable," at intervals, when the chance for an observation was
given him.

At last the Rat succeeded in decoying him to the table, and had just
got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when sounds were heard
from the fore-court without--sounds like the scuffling of small feet
in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices, while broken
sentences reached them--"Now, all in a line--hold the lantern up a
bit, Tommy--clear your throats first--no coughing after I say one,
two, three.--Where's young Bill?--Here, come on, do, we're all
a-waiting--"

"What's up?" inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.

"I think it must be the field-mice," replied the Mole, with a touch of
pride in his manner. "They go round carol-singing regularly at this
time of the year. They're quite an institution in these parts. And
they never pass me over--they come to Mole End last of all; and I used
to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford
it. It will be like old times to hear them again."

"Let's have a look at them!" cried the Rat, jumping up and running to
the door.

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when
they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a
horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a
semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their
fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for
warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other,
sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat-sleeves a good deal.
As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was
just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill
little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols
that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by
frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be
sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.

                   _CAROL_

        _Villagers all, this frosty tide,
        Let your doors swing open wide,
        Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
         Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
            Joy shall be yours in the morning!_

        _Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
        Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
        Come from far away you to greet--
        You by the fire and we in the street--
            Bidding you joy in the morning!_

        _For ere one half of the night was gone,
        Sudden a star has led us on,
        Raining bliss and benison--
        Bliss to-morrow and more anon,
            Joy for every morning!_

        _Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow--
        Saw the star o'er a stable low;
        Mary she might not further go--
        Welcome thatch, and litter below!
            Joy was hers in the morning!_

        _And then they heard the angels tell
       "Who were the first to cry _Nowell_?
        Animals all, as it befell,
        In the stable where they did dwell!
            Joy shall be theirs in the morning!"_

The voices ceased, the singers, bashful but smiling, exchanged
sidelong glances, and silence succeeded--but for a moment only. Then,
from up above and far away, down the tunnel they had so lately
travelled was borne to their ears in a faint musical hum the sound of
distant bells ringing a joyful and clangorous peal.

"Very well sung, boys!" cried the Rat heartily. "And now come along
in, all of you, and warm yourselves by the fire, and have something
hot!"

"Yes, come along, field-mice," cried the Mole eagerly. "This is quite
like old times! Shut the door after you. Pull up that settle to the
fire. Now, you just wait a minute, while we--O, Ratty!" he cried in
despair, plumping down on a seat, with tears impending. "Whatever are
we doing? We've nothing to give them!"

"You leave all that to me," said the masterful Rat. "Here, you with
the lantern! Come over this way. I want to talk to you. Now, tell me,
are there any shops open at this hour of the night?"

"Why, certainly, sir," replied the field-mouse respectfully. "At this
time of the year our shops keep open to all sorts of hours."

"Then look here!" said the Rat. "You go off at once, you and your
lantern, and you get me--"

Here much muttered conversation ensued, and the Mole only heard bits
of it, such as--"Fresh, mind!--no, a pound of that will do--see you
get Buggins's, for I won't have any other--no, only the best--if you
can't get it there, try somewhere else--yes, of course, home-made, no
tinned stuff--well then, do the best you can!" Finally, there was a
chink of coin passing from paw to paw, the field-mouse was provided
with an ample basket for his purchases, and off he hurried, he and his
lantern.

The rest of the field-mice, perched in a row on the settle, their
small legs swinging, gave themselves up to enjoyment of the fire, and
toasted their chilblains till they tingled; while the Mole, failing to
draw them into easy conversation, plunged into family history and made
each of them recite the names of his numerous brothers, who were too
young, it appeared, to be allowed to go out a-carolling this year, but
looked forward very shortly to winning the parental consent.

The Rat, meanwhile, was busy examining the label on one of the
beer-bottles. "I perceive this to be Old Burton," he remarked
approvingly. "_Sensible_ Mole! The very thing! Now we shall be able to
mull some ale! Get the things ready, Mole, while I draw the corks."

It did not take long to prepare the brew and thrust the tin heater
well into the red heart of the fire; and soon every field-mouse was
sipping and coughing and choking (for a little mulled ale goes a long
way) and wiping his eyes and laughing and forgetting he had ever been
cold in all his life.

"They act plays, too, these fellows," the Mole explained to the Rat.
"Make them up all by themselves, and act them afterwards. And very
well they do it, too! They gave us a capital one last year, about a
field-mouse who was captured at sea by a Barbary corsair, and made to
row in a galley; and when he escaped and got home again, his lady-love
had gone into a convent. Here, _you_! You were in it, I remember. Get
up and recite a bit."

The field-mouse addressed got up on his legs, giggled shyly, looked
round the room, and remained absolutely tongue-tied. His comrades
cheered him on, Mole coaxed and encouraged him, and the Rat went so
far as to take him by the shoulders and shake him; but nothing could
overcome his stage-fright. They were all busily engaged on him like
watermen applying the Royal Humane Society's regulations to a case of
long submersion, when the latch clicked, the door opened, and the
field-mouse with the lantern reappeared, staggering under the weight
of his basket.

There was no more talk of play-acting once the very real and solid
contents of the basket had been tumbled out on the table. Under the
generalship of Rat, everybody was set to do something or to fetch
something. In a very few minutes supper was ready, and Mole, as he
took the head of the table in a sort of a dream, saw a lately barren
board set thick with savoury comforts; saw his little friends' faces
brighten and beam as they fell to without delay; and then let himself
loose--for he was famished indeed--on the provender so magically
provided, thinking what a happy home-coming this had turned out, after
all. As they ate, they talked of old times, and the field-mice gave
him the local gossip up to date, and answered as well as they could
the hundred questions he had to ask them. The Rat said little or
nothing, only taking care that each guest had what he wanted, and
plenty of it, and that Mole had no trouble or anxiety about anything.

They clattered off at last, very grateful and showering wishes of the
season, with their jacket pockets stuffed with remembrances for the
small brothers and sisters at home. When the door had closed on the
last of them and the chink of the lanterns had died away, Mole and Rat
kicked the fire up, drew their chairs in, brewed themselves a last
nightcap of mulled ale, and discussed the events of the long day. At
last the Rat, with a tremendous yawn, said, "Mole, old chap, I'm ready
to drop. Sleepy is simply not the word. That your own bunk over on
that side? Very well, then, I'll take this. What a ripping little
house this is! Everything so handy!"

He clambered into his bunk and rolled himself well up in the blankets,
and slumber gathered him forthwith, as a swathe of barley is folded
into the arms of the reaping machine.

The weary Mole also was glad to turn in without delay, and soon had
his head on his pillow, in great joy and contentment. But ere he
closed his eyes he let them wander round his old room, mellow in the
glow of the firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly
things which had long been unconsciously a part of him, and now
smilingly received him back, without rancour. He was now in just the
frame of mind that the tactful Rat had quietly worked to bring about
in him. He saw clearly how plain and simple--how narrow, even--it all
was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special
value of some such anchorage in one's existence. He did not at all
want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back
on sun and air and all they offered him and creep home and stay there;
the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down
there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage. But it was
good to think he had this to come back to, this place which was all
his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could
always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.



It was a bright morning in the early part of summer; the river had
resumed its wonted banks and its accustomed pace, and a hot sun seemed
to be pulling everything green and bushy and spiky up out of the earth
towards him, as if by strings. The Mole and the Water Rat had been up
since dawn, very busy on matters connected with boats and the opening
of the boating season; painting and varnishing, mending paddles,
repairing cushions, hunting for missing boat-hooks, and so on; and
were finishing breakfast in their little parlour and eagerly
discussing their plans for the day, when a heavy knock sounded at the
door.

"Bother!" said the Rat, all over egg. "See who it is, Mole, like a
good chap, since you've finished."

The Mole went to attend the summons, and the Rat heard him utter a cry
of surprise. Then he flung the parlour door open, and announced with
much importance, "Mr. Badger!"

This was a wonderful thing, indeed, that the Badger should pay a
formal call on them, or indeed on anybody. He generally had to be
caught, if you wanted him badly, as he slipped quietly along a
hedgerow of an early morning or a late evening, or else hunted up in
his own house in the middle of the Wood, which was a serious
undertaking.

The Badger strode heavily into the room, and stood looking at the two
animals with an expression full of seriousness. The Rat let his
egg-spoon fall on the table-cloth, and sat open-mouthed.

"The hour has come!" said the Badger at last with great solemnity.

"What hour?" asked the Rat uneasily, glancing at the clock on the
mantelpiece.

"_Whose_ hour, you should rather say," replied the Badger. "Why,
Toad's hour! The hour of Toad! I said I would take him in hand as
soon as the winter was well over, and I'm going to take him in hand
to-day!"

"Toad's hour, of course!" cried the Mole delightedly. "Hooray! I
remember now! _We'll_ teach him to be a sensible Toad!"

"This very morning," continued the Badger, taking an arm-chair, "as I
learnt last night from a trustworthy source, another new and
exceptionally powerful motor-car will arrive at Toad Hall on approval
or return. At this very moment, perhaps, Toad is busy arraying himself
in those singularly hideous habiliments so dear to him, which
transform him from a (comparatively) good-looking Toad into an Object
which throws any decent-minded animal that comes across it into a
violent fit. We must be up and doing, ere it is too late. You two
animals will accompany me instantly to Toad Hall, and the work of
rescue shall be accomplished."

"Right you are!" cried the Rat, starting up. "We'll rescue the poor
unhappy animal! We'll convert him! He'll be the most converted Toad
that ever was before we've done with him!"

They set off up the road on their mission of mercy, Badger leading the
way. Animals when in company walk in a proper and sensible manner, in
single file, instead of sprawling all across the road and being of no
use or support to each other in case of sudden trouble or danger.

They reached the carriage-drive of Toad Hall to find, as Badger had
anticipated, a shiny new motor-car, of great size, painted a bright
red (Toad's favourite colour), standing in front of the house. As they
neared the door it was flung open, and Mr. Toad, arrayed in goggles,
cap, gaiters, and enormous overcoat, came swaggering down the steps,
drawing on his gauntleted gloves.

"Hullo! come on, you fellows!" he cried cheerfully on catching sight
of them. "You're just in time to come with me for a jolly--to come for
a jolly--for a--er--jolly--"

His hearty accents faltered and fell away as he noticed the stern
unbending look on the countenances of his silent friends, and his
invitation remained unfinished.

The Badger strode up the steps. "Take him inside," he said sternly to
his companions. Then, as Toad was hustled through the door, struggling
and protesting, he turned to the _chauffeur_ in charge of the new
motor-car.

"I'm afraid you won't be wanted to-day," he said. "Mr. Toad has
changed his mind. He will not require the car. Please understand that
this is final. You needn't wait." Then he followed the others inside
and shut the door.

"Now then!" he said to the Toad, when the four of them stood together
in the Hall, "first of all, take those ridiculous things off!"

"Shan't!" replied Toad, with great spirit. "What is the meaning of
this gross outrage? I demand an instant explanation."

"Take them off him, then, you two," ordered the Badger briefly.

They had to lay Toad out on the floor, kicking and calling all sorts
of names, before they could get to work properly. Then the Rat sat on
him, and the Mole got his motor-clothes off him bit by bit, and they
stood him up on his legs again. A good deal of his blustering spirit
seemed to have evaporated with the removal of his fine panoply. Now
that he was merely Toad, and no longer the Terror of the Highway, he
giggled feebly and looked from one to the other appealingly, seeming
quite to understand the situation.

"You knew it must come to this, sooner or later, Toad," the Badger
explained severely. "You've disregarded all the warnings we've given
you, you've gone on squandering the money your father left you, and
you're getting us animals a bad name in the district by your furious
driving and your smashes and your rows with the police. Independence
is all very well, but we animals never allow our friends to make fools
of themselves beyond a certain limit; and that limit you've reached.
Now, you're a good fellow in many respects, and I don't want to be too
hard on you. I'll make one more effort to bring you to reason. You
will come with me into the smoking-room, and there you will hear some
facts about yourself; and we'll see whether you come out of that room
the same Toad that you went in."

He took Toad firmly by the arm, led him into the smoking-room, and
closed the door behind them.

"_That's_ no good!" said the Rat contemptuously. "_Talking_ to Toad'll
never cure him. He'll _say_ anything."

They made themselves comfortable in arm-chairs and waited patiently.
Through the closed door they could just hear the long continuous drone
of the Badger's voice, rising and falling in waves of oratory; and
presently they noticed that the sermon began to be punctuated at
intervals by long-drawn sobs, evidently proceeding from the bosom of
Toad, who was a soft-hearted and affectionate fellow, very easily
converted--for the time being--to any point of view.

After some three-quarters of an hour the door opened, and the Badger
reappeared, solemnly leading by the paw a very limp and dejected Toad.
His skin hung baggily about him, his legs wobbled, and his cheeks were
furrowed by the tears so plentifully called forth by the Badger's
moving discourse.

"Sit down there, Toad," said the Badger kindly, pointing to a chair.
"My friends," he went on, "I am pleased to inform you that Toad has at
last seen the error of his ways. He is truly sorry for his misguided
conduct in the past, and he has undertaken to give up motor-cars
entirely and for ever. I have his solemn promise to that effect."

"That is very good news," said the Mole gravely.

"Very good news indeed," observed the Rat dubiously, "if only--_if_
only--"

He was looking very hard at Toad as he said this, and could not help
thinking he perceived something vaguely resembling a twinkle in that
animal's still sorrowful eye.

"There's only one thing more to be done," continued the gratified
Badger. "Toad, I want you solemnly to repeat, before your friends
here, what you fully admitted to me in the smoking-room just now.
First, you are sorry for what you've done, and you see the folly of it
all?"

There was a long, long pause. Toad looked desperately this way and
that, while the other animals waited in grave silence. At last he
spoke.

"No!" he said, a little sullenly, but stoutly; "I'm _not_ sorry. And
it wasn't folly at all! It was simply glorious!"

"What?" cried the Badger, greatly scandalised. "You backsliding
animal, didn't you tell me just now, in there--"

"Oh, yes, yes, in _there_," said Toad impatiently. "I'd have said
anything in _there_. You're so eloquent, dear Badger, and so moving,
and so convincing, and put all your points so frightfully well--you
can do what you like with me in _there_, and you know it. But I've
been searching my mind since, and going over things in it, and I find
that I'm not a bit sorry or repentant really, so it's no earthly good
saying I am; now, is it?"

"Then you don't promise," said the Badger, "never to touch a motor-car
again?"

"Certainly not!" replied Toad emphatically. "On the contrary, I
faithfully promise that the very first motor-car I see, poop-poop! off
I go in it!"

"Told you so, didn't I?" observed the Rat to the Mole.

"Very well, then," said the Badger firmly, rising to his feet. "Since
you won't yield to persuasion, we'll try what force can do. I feared
it would come to this all along. You've often asked us three to come
and stay with you, Toad, in this handsome house of yours; well, now
we're going to. When we've converted you to a proper point of view we
may quit, but not before. Take him upstairs, you two, and lock him up
in his bedroom, while we arrange matters between ourselves."

"It's for your own good, Toady, you know," said the Rat kindly, as
Toad, kicking and struggling, was hauled up the stairs by his two
faithful friends. "Think what fun we shall all have together, just as
we used to, when you've quite got over this--this painful attack of
yours!"

"We'll take great care of everything for you till you're well, Toad,"
said the Mole; "and we'll see your money isn't wasted, as it has
been."

"No more of those regrettable incidents with the police, Toad," said
the Rat, as they thrust him into his bedroom.

"And no more weeks in hospital, being ordered about by female nurses,
Toad," added the Mole, turning the key on him.

They descended the stair, Toad shouting abuse at them through the
keyhole; and the three friends then met in conference on the
situation.

"It's going to be a tedious business," said the Badger, sighing. "I've
never seen Toad so determined. However, we will see it out. He must
never be left an instant unguarded. We shall have to take it in turns
to be with him, till the poison has worked itself out of his system."

They arranged watches accordingly. Each animal took it in turns to
sleep in Toad's room at night, and they divided the day up between
them. At first Toad was undoubtedly very trying to his careful
guardians. When his violent paroxysms possessed him he would arrange
bedroom chairs in rude resemblance of a motor-car and would crouch on
the foremost of them, bent forward and staring fixedly ahead, making
uncouth and ghastly noises, till the climax was reached, when, turning
a complete somersault, he would lie prostrate amidst the ruins of the
chairs, apparently completely satisfied for the moment. As time
passed, however, these painful seizures grew gradually less frequent,
and his friends strove to divert his mind into fresh channels. But his
interest in other matters did not seem to revive, and he grew
apparently languid and depressed.

One fine morning the Rat, whose turn it was to go on duty, went
upstairs to relieve Badger, whom he found fidgeting to be off and
stretch his legs in a long ramble round his wood and down his earths
and burrows. "Toad's still in bed," he told the Rat, outside the door.
"Can't get much out of him, except, 'O leave him alone, he wants
nothing, perhaps he'll be better presently, it may pass off in time,
don't be unduly anxious,' and so on. Now, you look out, Rat! When
Toad's quiet and submissive, and playing at being the hero of a
Sunday-school prize, then he's at his artfullest. There's sure to be
something up. I know him. Well, now, I must be off."

"How are you to-day, old chap?" inquired the Rat cheerfully, as he
approached Toad's bedside.

He had to wait some minutes for an answer. At last a feeble voice
replied, "Thank you so much, dear Ratty! So good of you to inquire!
But first tell me how you are yourself, and the excellent Mole?"

"O, _we're_ all right," replied the Rat. "Mole," he added
incautiously, "is going out for a run round with Badger. They'll be
out till luncheon time, so you and I will spend a pleasant morning
together, and I'll do my best to amuse you. Now jump up, there's a
good fellow, and don't lie moping there on a fine morning like this!"

"Dear, kind Rat," murmured Toad, "how little you realise my condition,
and how very far I am from 'jumping up' now--if ever! But do not
trouble about me. I hate being a burden to my friends, and I do not
expect to be one much longer. Indeed, I almost hope not."

"Well, I hope not, too," said the Rat heartily. "You've been a fine
bother to us all this time, and I'm glad to hear it's going to stop.
And in weather like this, and the boating season just beginning! It's
too bad of you, Toad! It isn't the trouble we mind, but you're making
us miss such an awful lot."

"I'm afraid it _is_ the trouble you mind, though," replied the Toad
languidly. "I can quite understand it. It's natural enough. You're
tired of bothering about me. I mustn't ask you to do anything further.
I'm a nuisance, I know."

"You are, indeed," said the Rat. "But I tell you, I'd take any trouble
on earth for you, if only you'd be a sensible animal."

"If I thought that, Ratty," murmured Toad, more feebly than ever,
"then I would beg you--for the last time, probably--to step round to
the village as quickly as possible--even now it may be too late--and
fetch the doctor. But don't you bother. It's only a trouble, and
perhaps we may as well let things take their course."

"Why, what do you want a doctor for?" inquired the Rat, coming closer
and examining him. He certainly lay very still and flat, and his voice
was weaker and his manner much changed.

"Surely you have noticed of late--" murmured Toad. "But, no--why
should you? Noticing things is only a trouble. To-morrow, indeed, you
may be saying to yourself, 'O, if only I had noticed sooner! If only I
had done something!' But no; it's a trouble. Never mind--forget that I
asked."

"Look here, old man," said the Rat, beginning to get rather alarmed,
"of course I'll fetch a doctor to you, if you really think you want
him. But you can hardly be bad enough for that yet. Let's talk about
something else."

"I fear, dear friend," said Toad, with a sad smile, "that 'talk' can
do little in a case like this--or doctors either, for that matter;
still, one must grasp at the slightest straw. And, by the way--while
you are about it--I _hate_ to give you additional trouble, but I
happen to remember that you will pass the door--would you mind at the
same time asking the lawyer to step up? It would be a convenience to
me, and there are moments--perhaps I should say there is _a_
moment--when one must face disagreeable tasks, at whatever cost to
exhausted nature!"

"A lawyer! O, he must be really bad!" the affrighted Rat said to
himself, as he hurried from the room, not forgetting, however, to lock
the door carefully behind him.

Outside, he stopped to consider. The other two were far away, and he
had no one to consult.

"It's best to be on the safe side," he said, on reflection. "I've
known Toad fancy himself frightfully bad before, without the slightest
reason; but I've never heard him ask for a lawyer! If there's nothing
really the matter, the doctor will tell him he's an old ass, and cheer
him up; and that will be something gained. I'd better humour him and
go; it won't take very long." So he ran off to the village on his
errand of mercy.

The Toad, who had hopped lightly out of bed as soon as he heard the
key turned in the lock, watched him eagerly from the window till he
disappeared down the carriage-drive. Then, laughing heartily, he
dressed as quickly as possible in the smartest suit he could lay
hands on at the moment, filled his pockets with cash which he took
from a small drawer in the dressing-table, and next, knotting the
sheets from his bed together and tying one end of the improvised rope
round the central mullion of the handsome Tudor window which formed
such a feature of his bedroom, he scrambled out, slid lightly to the
ground, and, taking the opposite direction to the Rat, marched off
light-heartedly, whistling a merry tune.

It was a gloomy luncheon for Rat when the Badger and the Mole at
length returned, and he had to face them at table with his pitiful and
unconvincing story. The Badger's caustic, not to say brutal, remarks
may be imagined, and therefore passed over; but it was painful to the
Rat that even the Mole, though he took his friend's side as far as
possible, could not help saying, "You've been a bit of a duffer this
time, Ratty! Toad, too, of all animals!"

"He did it awfully well," said the crestfallen Rat.

"He did _you_ awfully well!" rejoined the Badger hotly. "However,
talking won't mend matters. He's got clear away for the time, that's
certain; and the worst of it is, he'll be so conceited with what he'll
think is his cleverness that he may commit any folly. One comfort is,
we're free now, and needn't waste any more of our precious time doing
sentry-go. But we'd better continue to sleep at Toad Hall for a while
longer. Toad may be brought back at any moment--on a stretcher, or
between two policemen."

So spoke the Badger, not knowing what the future held in store, or how
much water, and of how turbid a character, was to run under bridges
before Toad should sit at ease again in his ancestral Hall.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, Toad, gay and irresponsible, was walking briskly along the
high road, some miles from home. At first he had taken by-paths, and
crossed many fields, and changed his course several times, in case of
pursuit; but now, feeling by this time safe from recapture, and the
sun smiling brightly on him, and all Nature joining in a chorus of
approval to the song of self-praise that his own heart was singing to
him, he almost danced along the road in his satisfaction and conceit.

"Smart piece of work that!" he remarked to himself chuckling. "Brain
against brute force--and brain came out on the top--as it's bound to
do. Poor old Ratty! My! won't he catch it when the Badger gets back! A
worthy fellow, Ratty, with many good qualities, but very little
intelligence and absolutely no education. I must take him in hand some
day, and see if I can make something of him."

Filled full of conceited thoughts such as these he strode along, his
head in the air, till he reached a little town, where the sign of "The
Red Lion," swinging across the road half-way down the main street,
reminded him that he had not breakfasted that day, and that he was
exceedingly hungry after his long walk. He marched into the Inn,
ordered the best luncheon that could be provided at so short a notice,
and sat down to eat it in the coffee-room.

He was about half-way through his meal when an only too familiar sound,
approaching down the street, made him start and fall a-trembling all
over. The poop-poop! drew nearer and nearer, the car could be heard to
turn into the inn-yard and come to a stop, and Toad had to hold on to
the leg of the table to conceal his over-mastering emotion. Presently
the party entered the coffee-room, hungry, talkative, and gay, voluble
on their experiences of the morning and the merits of the chariot that
had brought them along so well. Toad listened eagerly, all ears, for a
time; at last he could stand it no longer. He slipped out of the room
quietly, paid his bill at the bar, and as soon as he got outside
sauntered round quietly to the inn-yard. "There cannot be any harm," he
said to himself, "in my only just _looking_ at it!"

The car stood in the middle of the yard, quite unattended, the
stable-helps and other hangers-on being all at their dinner. Toad
walked slowly round it, inspecting, criticising, musing deeply.

"I wonder," he said to himself presently, "I wonder if this sort of
car _starts_ easily?"

Next moment, hardly knowing how it came about, he found he had hold of
the handle and was turning it. As the familiar sound broke forth, the
old passion seized on Toad and completely mastered him, body and soul.
As if in a dream he found himself, somehow, seated in the driver's
seat; as if in a dream, he pulled the lever and swung the car round
the yard and out through the archway; and, as if in a dream, all sense
of right and wrong, all fear of obvious consequences, seemed
temporarily suspended. He increased his pace, and as the car devoured
the street and leapt forth on the high road through the open country,
he was only conscious that he was Toad once more, Toad at his best and
highest, Toad the terror, the traffic-queller, the Lord of the lone
trail, before whom all must give way or be smitten into nothingness
and everlasting night. He chanted as he flew, and the car responded
with sonorous drone; the miles were eaten up under him as he sped he
knew not whither, fulfilling his instincts, living his hour, reckless
of what might come to him.

       *       *       *       *       *

"To my mind," observed the Chairman of the Bench of Magistrates
cheerfully, "the _only_ difficulty that presents itself in this
otherwise very clear case is, how we can possibly make it sufficiently
hot for the incorrigible rogue and hardened ruffian whom we see
cowering in the dock before us. Let me see: he has been found guilty,
on the clearest evidence, first, of stealing a valuable motor-car;
secondly, of driving to the public danger; and, thirdly, of gross
impertinence to the rural police. Mr. Clerk, will you tell us, please,
what is the very stiffest penalty we can impose for each of these
offences? Without, of course, giving the prisoner the benefit of any
doubt, because there isn't any."

The Clerk scratched his nose with his pen. "Some people would
consider," he observed, "that stealing the motor-car was the worst
offence; and so it is. But cheeking the police undoubtedly carries the
severest penalty; and so it ought. Supposing you were to say twelve
months for the theft, which is mild; and three years for the furious
driving, which is lenient; and fifteen years for the cheek, which was
pretty bad sort of cheek, judging by what we've heard from the
witness-box, even if you only believe one-tenth part of what you
heard, and I never believe more myself--those figures, if added
together correctly, tot up to nineteen years--"

"First-rate!" said the Chairman.

"--So you had better make it a round twenty years and be on the safe
side," concluded the Clerk.

"An excellent suggestion!" said the Chairman approvingly. "Prisoner!
Pull yourself together and try and stand up straight. It's going to be
twenty years for you this time. And mind, if you appear before us
again, upon any charge whatever, we shall have to deal with you very
seriously!"

Then the brutal minions of the law fell upon the hapless Toad; loaded
him with chains, and dragged him from the Court House, shrieking,
praying, protesting; across the market-place, where the playful
populace, always as severe upon detected crime as they are sympathetic
and helpful when one is merely "wanted," assailed him with jeers,
carrots, and popular catch-words; past hooting school children, their
innocent faces lit up with the pleasure they ever derive from the
sight of a gentleman in difficulties; across the hollow-sounding
drawbridge, below the spiky portcullis, under the frowning archway of
the grim old castle, whose ancient towers soared high overhead; past
guardrooms full of grinning soldiery off duty, past sentries who
coughed in a horrid, sarcastic way, because that is as much as a
sentry on his post dare do to show his contempt and abhorrence of
crime; up time-worn winding stairs, past men-at-arms in casquet and
corselet of steel, darting threatening looks through their vizards;
across courtyards, where mastiffs strained at their leash and pawed
the air to get at him; past ancient warders, their halberds leant
against the wall, dozing over a pasty and a flagon of brown ale; on
and on, past the rack-chamber and the thumbscrew-room, past the
turning that led to the private scaffold, till they reached the door
of the grimmest dungeon that lay in the heart of the innermost keep.
There at last they paused, where an ancient gaoler sat fingering a
bunch of mighty keys.

[Illustration: _Toad was a helpless prisoner in the remotest dungeon_]

"Oddsbodikins!" said the sergeant of police, taking off his helmet and
wiping his forehead. "Rouse thee, old loon, and take over from us this
vile Toad, a criminal of deepest guilt and matchless artfulness and
resource. Watch and ward him with all thy skill; and mark thee well,
greybeard, should aught untoward befall, thy old head shall answer for
his--and a murrain on both of them!"

The gaoler nodded grimly, laying his withered hand on the shoulder of
the miserable Toad. The rusty key creaked in the lock, the great door
clanged behind them; and Toad was a helpless prisoner in the remotest
dungeon of the best-guarded keep of the stoutest castle in all the
length and breadth of Merry England.

 "Dulce Domum" Mid-December, Mole and Rat are traveling back from one of their many journeys when they come across a human town. They take a shortcut through a human village, and look through windows to see a number of sweet, happy scenes: people sewing, families eating, laughter, children sleeping. They feel even more drawn towards home, so hurry their pace to escape the winter weather more quickly. Once beyond the village, though, Mole feels a familiar sense creep over him. Listening to his inner voice, he realizes that they are just minutes away from his old home, the one he left behind so long before. Mole calls out to Rat, who is too far ahead to understand him. Feeling ignored and upset, Mole follows, unwilling to simply desert his friend. However, his feelings eventually overpower him, so that he he sits and cries. Rat finally notices Mole's pain, and walks back to ask about it. After some blubbering, Mole explains that he wants to visit his old home. Though he initially thinks it a poor idea, Rat realizes what the detour means to Mole, and they wander until they find the home. Inside, Mole is ashamed of his humble dwelling, but Rat praises the home for its charm and efficiency. Some caroling field mice stop by, and Rat is able to scrape together a feast for everyone from Mole's cupboards. That night, when they go to bed, Mole is happy to spend a night in his old home, but is glad to have a new life elsewhere. Chapter 6 - "Mr. Toad" Months later, Rat and Mole are eating breakfast when Badger stops by for an unexpected visit. He announces that the time has come for the friends to intervene in Toad's childish behavior. Rat and Mole agree. They walk together to Toad Hall, where they see a brand new red motor car in the driveway. Badger lets himself into the house, and brings Toad into a room alone. There, Badger sternly lectures Toad on his behavior; Mole and Rat can hear Toad's sobs through the walls. In particular, Badger wants Toad to give up on motorcars, which are dangerous, costly, and foolish. Toad acquiesces to Badger's demands, but he recants as soon as he and Badger leave the room. He announces that he is not sorry for his behavior, and that he will never give up driving automobiles. Faced with no other choice, Badger commands Rat and Mole to lock Toad in his bedroom until his addiction subsides. At first, Toad resists the treatment. In an effort to recreate driving, he arranges his bedroom furniture into the shape of a vehicle, and pretends to control it. Then, he pretends to wreck, and lies on the floor. His friends are so worried by the extent of his obsession that they guard him around the clock. After a while, though, Toad seems to recover somewhat. He spends less time pretending to drive, and is visibly more relaxed. Somewhat relieved, Badger and Mole leave Rat alone for one guard shift. Unfortunately, this is just the opportunity Toad has been waiting for. He begins to act deathly ill, and begs Rat to fetch him a doctor and lawyer so he can put his affairs in order. Thinking Toad sincere, Rat leaves his post for a few minutes, and Toad uses a bedsheet rope to climb out of the window to freedom. Once out of his home prison, Toad runs as far as he can, finally stopping for dinner at an inn. From inside, he hears the sound of a car approaching, and watches as it pulls up at the restaurant. Thinking it safe for him to simply take a look at the vehicle, he sneaks outside and sits in it. However, his addiction is too strong, and he soon enough steals the car and takes it for a joy ride. Unfortunately, he wrecks the vehicle, and is apprehended. A judge sentences him to twenty years in prison for theft, driving recklessly, and for treating the police rudely. Toad is immediately dragged to jail, and locked away to think about his actions.

