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.
IV
MR. BADGER
They waited patiently for what seemed a very long time,stamping in the snow to keep their feet warm.At last they heard the sound of slow 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.