THE RAT
“_The rat is a king. Tommy Smith has a peep
At his palace: but is he awake or asleep?_”
“I SEE you,” said the rat, as Tommy Smith passed through the yard of
his father’s house. “I see you, but it is not the right time yet. Wait
till to-night.”
So all that day Tommy Smith kept thinking of what the rat had promised;
and when his bedtime came, instead of wanting to stay up longer, as
he usually did, he was quite pleased to go, and went upstairs without
making any fuss. “Now,” thought he, as he made himself nice and snug in
bed, “I shall keep awake till the rat comes. I am not at all sleepy. I
can see the branch of the cedar tree by the window shaking in the wind,
and I can hear the clock ticking on the staircase. ‘Tick, tick—tick,
tick,’—I wonder if it gets tired of saying that all day long, and all
night long, too, without ever once stopping,—unless they don’t wind
it up. ‘Tick, tick—tick, tick.’ If I keep on counting it, I shan’t go
to sleep. ‘Tick, tick—tick, tick—tick, tick—tick—squeak!’”
“What was that?” said Tommy Smith, as he sat up in bed. “That wasn’t
the clock;” and then, all at once, the old clock on the stairs struck
one. “One? Then it must be wrong. When I got into bed it was only”—
“It is quite right,” said a squeaky little voice close to Tommy Smith’s
ear, “I don’t know what time it was when you got into bed, but you have
been asleep for a good many hours; and now it is one in the morning,
which is what _I_ call a nice, comfortable time.”
“I suppose you are the rat,” said Tommy Smith, rubbing his eyes.
“Yes, I am,” the same voice answered. “But it is too dark for you to
see me here. Get up, and put on some of your clothes, and then we will
come down to the kitchen. The fire is not quite out, and you can put a
few more sticks on it. Then you will be able to see me as well as I can
see you now, and we can talk together comfortably.”
[Illustration: PAT, PAT, PAT. “DO YOU HEAR?”]
“But can you see in the dark?” said Tommy Smith, whilst he sat on the
bed and began to put on his stockings.
“Oh yes,” the rat answered; “just as well as I can in the light.”
“I wish I could,” said Tommy Smith, “for I can’t see _you_ at all.”
“Of course not,” said the rat. “So, you see, it has not taken a _very_
long time to find out something which I can do, but you can’t. Well,
you are ready now, so come along. You will be able to follow me, for
I will pat the floor just in front of you with my tail,—and that is
another thing which you couldn’t do, even if you were to try for a very
long time.”
“Because _I_ haven’t got a tail,” said Tommy Smith.
“That is one reason,” the rat answered; “but you can’t be sure you
could do it even if you had one. It might be too short, you know. Now,
come along.” Pat, pat, pat. “Do you hear?”
Tommy Smith heard quite plainly, and he followed the rat through the
door, and down the stairs, and right into the kitchen. The fire was
still alight, as the rat had said. There were some sticks lying in the
fender, and Tommy Smith put some of them on to make it burn up. Then
there was a blaze of light, and he could see the rat sitting up on his
hind legs, and holding his front paws close to the bars so as to warm
them.
“Now,” the rat said, “we will begin at once. I promised to show you
that I could do some clever things as well as the frog and toad. Do you
see that bottle of oil standing there on the dresser?”
“Oh yes, I see it,” said Tommy Smith.
“Well,” the rat went on, “I should like to taste a little of it. But
how do you suppose I am to get at it?”
“Why, by knocking it over,” said Tommy Smith at once. “That is the only
way that I can see.”
“Fie!” said the rat. “That may be _your_ way of drinking oil, but _I_
should be ashamed to make such a mess. _I_ am a rat, and I like to do
things in a proper manner.”
Tommy Smith felt a little offended at this, and he said, “I never knock
a bottle over when I want to get oil or anything else out of it, for
_I_ am a little boy, and have a pair of hands to lift it up with, and
pour what is in it out of it. But you have no hands, and you cannot get
your head into it, because the neck is too narrow, and your tongue is
not long enough to reach down to where the oil is. So I don’t see what
you can do, unless you knock it over.”
“Fie!” said the rat again. “Well, you shall soon see what I can do.”
And almost as he said this, he was on the dresser, and from there he
gave a little jump on to the window-sill, and sat down, with his long
tail hanging over the edge of it. Now the neck of the bottle came
almost up to the edge of the window-sill, and the rat’s tail was as
long as the bottle.
“Oh, I see!” cried Tommy Smith.
“You will in a minute,” said the rat, and he drew up his tail, and
began to feel about with the tip of it till he had got it right inside
the mouth of the bottle. Then he let it down again until it was dipped
more than an inch deep into the oil at the bottom—for the bottle was
not quite half full.
“Oh, how clever!” cried Tommy Smith, clapping his hands.
“I should think so,” said the rat, as he drew out his tail, and then,
putting the end of it to his mouth, he began to lick off the delicious
oil. “You say that I have not a pair of hands,” he went on. “That is
true, but you see I have a tail, and I make it do just as well.”
“So you do,” said Tommy Smith; “and I see that you are a very clever
animal indeed.”
“We are clever in many other ways besides that,” said the rat. “Oil,
you know, is not the only thing which we care about. We like eggs for
breakfast, just as much as you do, and when we find any, we take them
to our holes, even if they are a long way off. Now, how do you think we
do that?”
“Let me see,” said Tommy Smith. “You have no hands, and I don’t think
you could carry an egg in your tail. I think you must push it in front
of you with your nose and paws.”
“Oh, we can do that, of course,” said the rat, “but it takes so long,
and, besides, the eggs might get broken. We have better ways than that.
Sometimes, if there are a great many of us, we all sit in a row, and
pass the eggs along from one to the other in our fore-paws. But we
have another way which is cleverer still, and as there is a basket of
eggs in that cupboard there, I don’t mind showing it you; for, between
ourselves, when we do _that_ trick, we like to have a little boy in the
kitchen at nights to look at us. But, first, I must call a friend of
mine.” The rat then gave rather a loud squeak, and out another rat came
running; but Tommy Smith didn’t see where it came from.
“What is it?” said the second rat.
“Oh, I want to show little Tommy Smith how we carry eggs about,” said
the first rat.
“Very well,” said the second rat. “Come along.” And they both scampered
into the cupboard together. (The door of the cupboard was half open.
_I_ think it ought to have been shut.)
Very soon the two rats came out again, but whatever do you think they
were doing? Why, one of them was on his back, and the other one was
dragging him along the floor by his tail, which he had in his mouth.
But what was that white thing which the rat who was being dragged
along was holding? Was it an egg? Yes, indeed it was; and he was
holding it very tightly with all his four feet, so that it was pressed
up against his body, and didn’t slip at all.
Tommy Smith could hardly believe his eyes. “Is that how you do it?” he
cried. “I see. One rat holds the egg, and the other pulls him along by
the tail.”
“Of course he does,” said the rat. “He pulls him and the egg too.”
“_Well_,” Tommy Smith said, “of all the clever things I have _ever_
seen, I think that is the cleverest. But where are you going with it?”
Yes, it was easy to ask, but there was no one to answer him; for both
the little rats were gone all of a sudden,—and, what is more, the egg
was gone too. “That will be one egg less for breakfast,” thought Tommy
Smith to himself. “I wonder that I didn’t think of that before. Ah, Mr.
Rat,” he called out, “you may be very clever, but you are a thief, for
all that. That egg which you have just taken away belongs to me. I mean
it belongs to my father and mother. I call that stealing.”
“Oh, do you?” said the rat, for he had come out of his hole again.
“Then just let me ask you one question. Who laid that egg?”
“Why, the hen did, of course,” answered Tommy Smith.
“Oh, did she?” said the rat. “Then I suppose your father, or someone
else, took it away from her, and _I_ call _that_ stealing.”
“Oh no,” said Tommy Smith; “I don’t think it is.”
“Don’t you?” said the rat. “Well, you had better ask the hen what _she_
thinks. I feel sure she would agree with me.”
Tommy Smith felt certain that the rat was wrong, and that the egg had
not been stolen. Still, he thought he had better not ask the hen;
and, whilst he was considering what he should say, the rat went on
with—“There are other things we rats do which are quite as clever as
what you have just seen. But, perhaps, if I were to show them you, you
would make some other rude remark about stealing.”
“Perhaps I should,” Tommy Smith answered; “and, besides, I feel very
sleepy, and should like to go upstairs to bed again.”
As he said this, he yawned, and looked straight into the fire; but,
dear me, what _was_ happening there? The coals in it seemed to be
getting larger and larger, till they looked like the sides of great red
mountains, and the spaces between them were like great caves, so deep
that Tommy Smith could not see to the bottom of them. In and out of
these caves, and all down the sides of the red mountains, hundreds of
rats were running, and they all met each other in the centre of—what?
Not of the fireplace. Of course not, for they would have been burnt.
Nor of the kitchen either. There was no kitchen now. It had all
disappeared. It was in the centre of a great hall, or amphitheatre,
that Tommy Smith stood now; and when he looked round him, he saw only
those great rugged mountains, which seemed to make its walls on every
side. He looked up but he could see nothing. There was neither sun, nor
moon, nor stars, yet everything was lit up with a strange light, which
seemed to Tommy Smith like the red glow of the fire, though he couldn’t
see the fire any more. It had gone with the kitchen.
“Where am I?” he cried.
“In the great underground store-cupboard of the rats,” said a voice
close beside him; and, looking round, he saw the same rat who had come
up into his bedroom, and taken him down to the kitchen, and shown him
his clever tricks.
Yes, he was the same rat,—but how different he looked! On his head
was a yellow crown, which was either of gold, or _else_ it must have
been cut out of a cheese-paring; and in his right fore-paw he held
his sceptre, which looked _exactly_ like a delicate spring-onion. He
had a necklace of the finest peas round his neck, from which a lovely
green bean hung as a pendant upon his breast, and his tail was twisted
into beautiful _rings_. “I am the king of the rats,” he said, “and
all the other rats are my subjects. Those great caves which you see
in the sides of the mountains are so many passages that lead into all
the kitchens of the world. Through them we bring all the good things
that we find in the kitchens, and larders, and pantries, and then
we feast on them here in our own palace; for a rat’s palace is his
store-cupboard. See!” And with this the rat king struck his sceptre
on the ground, and at once all the rats left off scampering about,
and formed themselves into a great many long lines, which stretched
from the mouths of all the caves right into the very middle of that
wonderful place. There they all sat upright, side by side, waiting
to be told what to do. Then the king of the rats waved his sceptre
three times round his head, and called out, “Supper.” Immediately
all kinds of things that are good for rats to eat, such as bits of
cheese, scraps of bread or toast, beans, onions, bacon, potatoes,
apples, biscuits,—everything of that kind that you can possibly think
of (besides _some_ things that you _can’t_ possibly think of), began
to pour out from all the great caves, and to fly like lightning from
rat to rat down all the long lines. One rat seized something in his
fore-paws and passed it on to another, and that one to the next, so
quickly that it made Tommy Smith quite giddy to look at it; and he
hardly knew what was happening, till all at once there was an immense
heap of provisions piled up in the very centre of the floor. Then the
king of the rats climbed up to the top of the heap, and called out,
“Take your places,” and in a moment all the other rats came scampering
up, and sat in a large circle round the great heap of provisions.
“Begin!” said the king; and every rat made a leap forward, and fixed
his teeth into the first piece of bread, or cheese, or toast, or bacon,
that he could get hold of, and there was _such_ a noise of nibbling,
and gnawing, and scratching, and squeaking. Tommy Smith was quite
frightened, and put his fingers to his ears.
[Illustration: “BITE HIM!”]
“What are you doing that for?” said the king of the rats. “Didn’t you
hear me tell you to begin?”
“But I don’t want to begin,” said Tommy Smith.
“Why not?” said the king; and all the other rats stopped eating, and
said, “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like eating in the night,” Tommy Smith answered; “and,
besides, I can’t eat what rats eat.”
At this there was a great commotion, and the king of the rats cried
out, “Bite him!” in a very loud and shrill voice.
Oh, how fast little Tommy Smith ran! “The caves!” he thought. “They
lead to all the kitchens of the world, so one of them must lead to
ours.” He got to one, but the rats were close behind him. He could see
their eyes shining in the dark as he looked back. “Oh dear!” he said;
“I shall be caught. It’s getting narrower and narrower, and, of course,
it must be a rat’s hole at the other end. Ah, there! I’m stuck, and
I shall be bitten all over.” As he said this, he kicked and squeezed
as hard as he could, and, to his great surprise, he found that the
sides of the rat-hole were quite soft—in fact, they felt very like
bedclothes; and the next moment his head was on his own pillow, and the
old clock on the staircase struck two.
“Well, good-night,” said a squeaky little voice, that he seemed to have
heard before. “If you _will_ go to sleep, I can’t help it, but I think
the way in which little boys turn night into day is quite dreadful.”
The next time Tommy Smith heard the old clock on the stairs, it was
striking eight, so, of course, it was broad daylight, and high time
to get up. “What a funny dream I have had,” he said, as he rubbed his
eyes; “or did the rat really come, as he said he would?” Then, after
thinking a little, he said to himself, “Rats are certainly very clever
animals, and I don’t think I’ll kill another, even if they do steal a
few things. At anyrate, _I_ won’t hurt _them_ until _they_ hurt _me_.”