The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame Page A

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 ab 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 ac 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 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 today, 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