The Wind in the Willows
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 everyone 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 halfway 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 forepaw 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 blest 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.”
“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 enquiries 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 apiece 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