the snow to keep their feet warm. At last they heard the sound of slow
shuffling footsteps approaching the door from the inside. It seemed,
as the Mole remarked to the Rat, like some one walking in carpet
slippers that were too large for him and down at heel; which was
intelligent of Mole, because that was exactly what it was.
There was the noise of a bolt shot back, and the door opened a few
inches, enough to show a long snout and a pair of sleepy blinking
eyes.
"Now, the _very_ next time this happens," said a gruff and suspicious
voice, "I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it _this_ time,
disturbing people on such a night? Speak up!"
"Oh, Badger," cried the Rat, "let us in, please. It's me, Rat, and my
friend Mole, and we've lost our way in the snow."
"What, Ratty, my dear little man!" exclaimed the Badger, in quite a
different voice. "Come along in, both of you, at once. Why, you must
be perished. Well, I never! Lost in the snow! And in the Wild Wood,
too, and at this time of night! But come in with you."
The two animals tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get
inside, and heard the door shut behind them with great joy and relief.
The Badger, who wore a long dressing-gown, and whose slippers were
indeed very down at heel, carried a flat candlestick in his paw and
had probably been on his way to bed when their summons sounded. He
looked kindly down on them and patted both their heads. "This is not
the sort of night for small animals to be out," he said paternally.
"I'm afraid you've been up to some of your pranks again, Ratty. But
come along; come into the kitchen. There's a first-rate fire there,
and supper and everything."
He shuffled on in front of them, carrying the light, and they
followed him, nudging each other in an anticipating sort of way, down
a long, gloomy, and, to tell the truth, decidedly shabby passage, into
a sort of a central hall, out of which they could dimly see other long
tunnel-like passages branching, passages mysterious and without
apparent end. But there were doors in the hall as well--stout oaken,
comfortable-looking doors. One of these the Badger flung open, and at
once they found themselves in all the glow and warmth of a large
fire-lit kitchen.
The floor was well-worn red brick, and on the wide hearth burnt a fire
of logs, between two attractive chimney-corners tucked away in the
wall, well out of any suspicion of draught. A couple of high-backed
settles, facing each other on either side of the fire, gave further
sitting accommodations for the sociably disposed. In the middle of the
room stood a long table of plain boards placed on trestles, with
benches down each side. At one end of it, where an arm-chair stood
pushed back, were spread the remains of the Badger's plain but ample
supper. Rows of spotless plates winked from the shelves of the dresser
at the far end of the room, and from the rafters overhead hung hams,
bundles of dried herbs, nets of onions, and baskets of eggs. It seemed
a place where heroes could fitly feast after victory, where weary
harvesters could line up in scores along the table and keep their
Harvest Home with mirth and song, or where two or three friends of
simple tastes could sit about as they pleased and eat and smoke and
talk in comfort and contentment. The ruddy brick floor smiled up at
the smoky ceiling; the oaken settles, shiny with long wear, exchanged
cheerful glances with each other; plates on the dresser grinned at
pots on the shelf, and the merry firelight flickered and played over
everything without distinction.
The kindly Badger thrust them down on a settle to toast themselves at
the fire, and bade them remove their wet coats and boots. Then he
fetched them dressing-gowns and slippers, and himself bathed the
Mole's shin with warm water and mended the cut with sticking-plaster,
till the whole thing was just as good as new, if not better. In the
embracing light and warmth, warm and dry at last, with weary legs
propped up in front of them, and a suggestive clink of plates being
arranged on the table behind, it seemed to the storm-driven animals,
now in safe anchorage, that the cold and trackless Wild Wood just left
outside was miles and miles away, and all that they had suffered in it
a half-forgotten dream.
When at last they were thoroughly toasted, the Badger summoned them to
the table, where he had been busy laying a repast. They had felt
pretty hungry before, but when they actually saw at last the supper
that was spread for them, really it seemed only a question of what
they should attack first where all was so attractive, and whether the
other things would obligingly wait for them till they had time to give
them attention. Conversation was impossible for a long time; and when
it was slowly resumed, it was that regrettable sort of conversation
that results from talking with your mouth full. The Badger did not
mind that sort of thing at all, nor did he take any notice of elbows
on the table, or everybody speaking at once. As he did not go into
Society himself, he had got an idea that these things belonged to the
things that didn't really matter. (We know of course that he was
wrong, and took too narrow a view; because they do matter very much,
though it would take too long to explain why.) He sat in his arm-chair
at the head of the table, and nodded gravely at intervals as the
animals told their story; and he did not seem surprised or shocked at
anything, and he never said, "I told you so," or, "Just what I always
said," or remarked that they ought to have done so-and-so, or ought
not to have done something else. The Mole began to feel very friendly
towards him.
When supper was really finished at last, and each animal felt that his
skin was now as tight as was decently safe, and that by this time he
didn't care a hang for anybody or anything, they gathered round the
glowing embers of the great wood fire, and thought how jolly it was to
be sitting up _so_ late, and _so_ independent, and _so_ full; and
after they had chatted for a time about things in general, the Badger
said heartily, "Now then! tell us the news from your part of the
world. How's old Toad going on?"
"Oh, from bad to worse," said the Rat gravely, while the Mole, cocked
up on a settle and basking in the firelight, his heels higher than his
head, tried to look properly mournful. "Another smash-up only last
week, and a bad one. You see, he will insist on driving himself, and
he's hopelessly incapable. If he'd only employ a decent, steady,
well-trained animal, pay him good wages, and leave everything to him,
he'd get on all right. But no; he's convinced he's a heaven-born
driver, and nobody can teach him anything; and all the rest follows."
"How many has he had?" inquired the Badger gloomily.
"Smashes, or machines?" asked the Rat. "Oh, well, after all, it's the
same thing--with Toad. This is the seventh. As for the others--you
know that coach-house of his? Well, it's piled up--literally piled up
to the roof--with fragments of motor-cars, none of them bigger than
your hat! That accounts for the other six--so far as they can be
accounted for."
"He's been in hospital three times," put in the Mole; "and as for the
fines he's had to pay, it's simply awful to think of."
"Yes, and that's part of the trouble," continued the Rat. "Toad's
rich, we all know; but he's not a millionaire. And he's a hopelessly
bad driver, and quite regardless of law and order. Killed or
ruined--it's got to be one of the two things, sooner or later. Badger!
we're his friends--oughtn't we to do something?"
The Badger went through a bit of hard thinking. "Now look here!" he
said at last, rather severely; "of course you know I can't do anything
_now_?"
His two friends assented, quite understanding his point. No animal,
according to the rules of animal etiquette, is ever expected to do
anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the
off-season of winter. All are sleepy--some actually asleep. All are
weather-bound, more or less; and all are resting from arduous days and
nights, during which every muscle in them has been severely tested,
and every energy kept at full stretch.
"Very well then!" continued the Badger. "_But_, when once the year has
really turned, and the nights are shorter, and half-way through them
one rouses and feels fidgety and wanting to be up and doing by
sunrise, if not before--_you_ know!--"
Both animals nodded gravely. _They_ knew!
"Well, _then_," went on the Badger, "we--that is, you and me and our
friend the Mole here--we'll take Toad seriously in hand. We'll stand
no nonsense whatever. We'll bring him back to reason, by force if need
be. We'll _make_ him be a sensible Toad. We'll--you're asleep, Rat!"
"Not me!" said the Rat, waking up with a jerk.
"He's been asleep two or three times since supper," said the Mole,
laughing. He himself was feeling quite wakeful and even lively, though
he didn't know why. The reason was, of course, that he being naturally
an underground animal by birth and breeding, the situation of
Badger's house exactly suited him and made him feel at home; while the
Rat, who slept every night in a bedroom the windows of which opened on
a breezy river, naturally felt the atmosphere still and oppressive.
"Well, it's time we were all in bed," said the Badger, getting up and
fetching flat candlesticks. "Come along, you two, and I'll show you
your quarters. And take your time to-morrow morning--breakfast at any
hour you please!"
He conducted the two animals to a long room that seemed half
bedchamber and half loft. The Badger's winter stores, which indeed
were visible everywhere, took up half the room--piles of apples,
turnips, and potatoes, baskets full of nuts, and jars of honey; but
the two little white beds on the remainder of the floor looked soft
and inviting, and the linen on them, though coarse, was clean and
smelt beautifully of lavender; and the Mole and the Water Rat, shaking
off their garments in some thirty seconds, tumbled in between the
sheets in great joy and contentment.
In accordance with the kindly Badger's injunctions, the two tired
animals came down to breakfast very late next morning, and found a
bright fire burning in the kitchen, and two young hedgehogs sitting on
a bench at the table, eating oatmeal porridge out of wooden bowls. The
hedgehogs dropped their spoons, rose to their feet, and ducked their
heads respectfully as the two entered.
"There, sit down, sit down," said the Rat pleasantly, "and go on with
your porridge. Where have you youngsters come from? Lost your way in
the snow, I suppose?"
"Yes, please, sir," said the elder of the two hedgehogs respectfully.
"Me and little Billy here, we was trying to find our way to
school--mother _would_ have us go, was the weather ever so--and of
course we lost ourselves, sir, and Billy he got frightened and took
and cried, being young and faint-hearted. And at last we happened up
against Mr. Badger's back door, and made so bold as to knock, sir, for
Mr. Badger he's a kind-hearted gentleman, as every one knows--"
"I understand," said the Rat, cutting himself some rashers from a side
of bacon, while the Mole dropped some eggs into a saucepan. "And
what's the weather like outside? You needn't 'sir' me quite so much,"
he added.
"O, terrible bad, sir, terrible deep the snow is," said the hedgehog.
"No getting out for the likes of you gentlemen to-day."
"Where's Mr. Badger?" inquired the Mole as he warmed the coffee-pot
before the fire.
"The master's gone into his study, sir," replied the hedgehog, "and he
said as how he was going to be particular busy this morning, and on no
account was he to be disturbed."
This explanation, of course, was thoroughly understood by every one
present. The fact is, as already set forth, when you live a life of
intense activity for six months in the year, and of comparative or
actual somnolence for the other six, during the latter period you
cannot be continually pleading sleepiness when there are people about
or things to be done. The excuse gets monotonous. The animals well
knew that Badger, having eaten a hearty breakfast, had retired to his
study and settled himself in an arm-chair with his legs up on another
and a red cotton handkerchief over his face, and was being "busy" in
the usual way at this time of the year.
The front-door bell clanged loudly, and the Rat, who was very greasy
with buttered toast, sent Billy, the smaller hedgehog, to see who it
might be. There was a sound of much stamping in the hall, and
presently Billy returned in front of the Otter, who threw himself on
the Rat with an embrace and a shout of affectionate greeting.
"Get off!" spluttered the Rat, with his mouth full.
"Thought I should find you here all right," said the Otter cheerfully.
"They were all in a great state of alarm along River Bank when I
arrived this morning. Rat never been home all night--nor Mole
either--something dreadful must have happened, they said; and the snow
had covered up all your tracks, of course. But I knew that when people
were in any fix they mostly went to Badger, or else Badger got to
know of it somehow, so I came straight off here, through the Wild Wood
and the snow! My! it was fine, coming through the snow as the red sun
was rising and showing against the black tree-trunks! As you went
along in the stillness, every now and then masses of snow slid off the
branches suddenly with a flop! making you jump and run for cover.
Snow-castles and snow-caverns had sprung up out of nowhere in the
night--and snow bridges, terraces, ramparts--I could have stayed and
played with them for hours. Here and there great branches had been
torn away by the sheer weight of the snow, and robins perched and
hopped on them in their perky conceited way, just as if they had done
it themselves. A ragged string of wild geese passed overhead, high on
the grey sky, and a few rooks whirled over the trees, inspected, and
flapped off homewards with a disgusted expression; but I met no
sensible being to ask the news of. About half-way across I came on a
rabbit sitting on a stump, cleaning his silly face with his paws. He
was a pretty scared animal when I crept up behind him and placed a
heavy fore-paw on his shoulder. I had to cuff his head once or
twice to get any sense out of it at all. At last I managed to extract
from him that Mole had been seen in the Wild Wood last night by one of
them. It was the talk of the burrows, he said, how Mole, Mr. Rat's
particular friend, was in a bad fix; how he had lost his way, and
'They' were up and out hunting, and were chivvying him round and
round. 'Then why didn't any of you _do_ something?' I asked. 'You
mayn't be blessed with brains, but there are hundreds and hundreds of
you, big, stout fellows, as fat as butter, and your burrows running in
all directions, and you could have taken him in and made him safe and
comfortable, or tried to, at all events.' 'What, _us_?' he merely
said: '_do_ something? us rabbits?' So I cuffed him again and left
him. There was nothing else to be done. At any rate, I had learnt
something; and if I had had the luck to meet any of 'Them' I'd have
learnt something more--or _they_ would."
[Illustration: _Through the Wild Wood and the snow_]
"Weren't you at all--er--nervous?" asked the Mole, some of yesterday's
terror coming back to him at the mention of the Wild Wood.
"Nervous?" The Otter showed a gleaming set of strong white teeth as he
laughed. "I'd give 'em nerves if any of them tried anything on with
me. Here, Mole, fry me some slices of ham, like the good little chap
you are. I'm frightfully hungry, and I've got any amount to say to
Ratty here. Haven't seen him for an age."
So the good-natured Mole, having cut some slices of ham, set the
hedgehogs to fry it, and returned to his own breakfast, while the
Otter and the Rat, their heads together, eagerly talked river-shop,
which is long shop and talk that is endless, running on like the
babbling river itself.
A plate of fried ham had just been cleared and sent back for more,
when the Badger entered, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and greeted
them all in his quiet, simple way, with kind inquiries for every one.
"It must be getting on for luncheon time," he remarked to the Otter.
"Better stop and have it with us. You must be hungry, this cold
morning."
"Rather!" replied the Otter, winking at the Mole. "The sight of these
greedy young hedgehogs stuffing themselves with fried ham makes me
feel positively famished."
The hedgehogs, who were just beginning to feel hungry again after
their porridge, and after working so hard at their frying, looked
timidly up at Mr. Badger, but were too shy to say anything.
"Here, you two youngsters, be off home to your mother," said the
Badger kindly. "I'll send some one with you to show you the way. You
won't want any dinner to-day, I'll be bound."
He gave them sixpence a-piece and a pat on the head, and they went off
with much respectful swinging of caps and touching of forelocks.
Presently they all sat down to luncheon together. The Mole found
himself placed next to Mr. Badger, and, as the other two were still
deep in river-gossip from which nothing could divert them, he took the
opportunity to tell Badger how comfortable and home-like it all felt
to him. "Once well underground," he said, "you know exactly where you
are. Nothing can happen to you, and nothing can get at you. You're
entirely your own master, and you don't have to consult anybody or
mind what they say. Things go on all the same overhead, and you let
'em, and don't bother about 'em. When you want to, up you go, and
there the things are, waiting for you."
The Badger simply beamed on him. "That's exactly what I say," he
replied. "There's no security, or peace and tranquillity, except
underground. And then, if your ideas get larger and you want to
expand--why, a dig and a scrape, and there you are! If you feel your
house is a bit too big, you stop up a hole or two, and there you are
again! No builders, no tradesmen, no remarks passed on you by fellows
looking over your wall, and, above all, no _weather_. Look at Rat,
now. A couple of feet of flood water, and he's got to move into hired
lodgings; uncomfortable, inconveniently situated, and horribly
expensive. Take Toad. I say nothing against Toad Hall; quite the best
house in these parts, _as_ a house. But supposing a fire breaks
out--where's Toad? Supposing tiles are blown off, or walls sink or
crack, or windows get broken--where's Toad? Supposing the rooms are
draughty--I _hate_ a draught myself--where's Toad? No, up and out of
doors is good enough to roam about and get one's living in; but
underground to come back to at last--that's my idea of _home_!"
The Mole assented heartily; and the Badger in consequence got very
friendly with him. "When lunch is over," he said, "I'll take you all
round this little place of mine. I can see you'll appreciate it. You
understand what domestic architecture ought to be, you do."
After luncheon, accordingly, when the other two had settled themselves
into the chimney-corner and had started a heated argument on the
subject of _eels_, the Badger lighted a lantern and bade the Mole
follow him. Crossing the hall, they passed down one of the principal
tunnels, and the wavering light of the lantern gave glimpses on either
side of rooms both large and small, some mere cupboards, others
nearly as broad and imposing as Toad's dining-hall. A narrow passage
at right angles led them into another corridor, and here the same
thing was repeated. The Mole was staggered at the size, the extent,
the ramifications of it all; at the length of the dim passages, the
solid vaultings of the crammed store-chambers, the masonry everywhere,
the pillars, the arches, the pavements. "How on earth, Badger," he
said at last, "did you ever find time and strength to do all this?
It's astonishing!"
"It _would_ be astonishing indeed," said the Badger simply, "if I
_had_ done it. But as a matter of fact I did none of it--only cleaned
out the passages and chambers, as far as I had need of them. There's
lots more of it, all round about. I see you don't understand, and I
must explain it to you. Well, very long ago, on the spot where the
Wild Wood waves now, before ever it had planted itself and grown up to
what it now is, there was a city--a city of people, you know. Here,
where we are standing, they lived, and walked, and talked, and slept,
and carried on their business. Here they stabled their horses and
feasted, from here they rode out to fight or drove out to trade. They
were a powerful people, and rich, and great builders. They built to
last, for they thought their city would last for ever."
"But what has become of them all?" asked the Mole.
"Who can tell?" said the Badger. "People come--they stay for a while,
they flourish, they build--and they go. It is their way. But we
remain. There were badgers here, I've been told, long before that same
city ever came to be. And now there are badgers here again. We are an
enduring lot, and we may move out for a time, but we wait, and are
patient, and back we come. And so it will ever be."
"Well, and when they went at last, those people?" said the Mole.
"When they went," continued the Badger, "the strong winds and
persistent rains took the matter in hand, patiently, ceaselessly, year
after year. Perhaps we badgers too, in our small way, helped a
little--who knows? It was all down, down, down, gradually--ruin and
levelling and disappearance. Then it was all up, up, up, gradually, as
seeds grew to saplings, and saplings to forest trees, and bramble and
fern came creeping in to help. Leaf-mould rose and obliterated,
streams in their winter freshets brought sand and soil to clog and to
cover, and in course of time our home was ready for us again, and we
moved in. Up above us, on the surface, the same thing happened.
Animals arrived, liked the look of the place, took up their quarters,
settled down, spread, and flourished. They didn't bother themselves
about the past--they never do; they're too busy. The place was a bit
humpy and hillocky, naturally, and full of holes; but that was rather
an advantage. And they don't bother about the future, either--the
future when perhaps the people will move in again--for a time--as may
very well be. The Wild Wood is pretty well populated by now; with all
the usual lot, good, bad, and indifferent--I name no names. It takes
all sorts to make a world. But I fancy you know something about them
yourself by this time."
"I do indeed," said the Mole, with a slight shiver.
"Well, well," said the Badger, patting him on the shoulder, "it was
your first experience of them, you see. They're not so bad really; and
we must all live and let live. But I'll pass the word around
to-morrow, and I think you'll have no further trouble. Any friend of
_mine_ walks where he likes in this country, or I'll know the reason
why!"
When they got back to the kitchen again, they found the Rat walking up
and down, very restless. The underground atmosphere was oppressing him
and getting on his nerves, and he seemed really to be afraid that the
river would run away if he wasn't there to look after it. So he had
his overcoat on, and his pistols thrust into his belt again. "Come
along, Mole," he said anxiously, as soon as he caught sight of them.
"We must get off while it's daylight. Don't want to spend another
night in the Wild Wood again."
"It'll be all right, my fine fellow," said the Otter. "I'm coming
along with you, and I know every path blindfold; and if there's a
head that needs to be punched, you can confidently rely upon me to
punch it."
"You really needn't fret, Ratty," added the Badger placidly. "My
passages run further than you think, and I've bolt-holes to the edge
of the wood in several directions, though I don't care for everybody
to know about them. When you really have to go, you shall leave by one
of my short cuts. Meantime, make yourself easy, and sit down again."