Prev
| Next
| Contents
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 shuflling 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 halfway
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 tomorrow 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 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 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.'
The Rat was nevertheless still anxious to be off and attend to
his river, so the Badger, taking up his lantern again, led the
way along a damp and airless tunnel that wound and dipped,
part vaulted, part hewn through solid rock, for a weary distance
that seemed to be miles. At last daylight began to show itself
confusedly through tangled growth overhanging the mouth of the
passage; and the Badger, bidding them a hasty good-bye, pushed
them hurriedly through the opening, made everything look as
natural as possible again, with creepers, brushwood, and dead
leaves, and retreated.
They found themselves standing on the very edge of the Wild Wood.
Rocks and brambles and tree-roots behind them, confusedly heaped
and tangled; in front, a great space of quiet fields, hemmed by
lines of hedges black on the snow, and, far ahead, a glint of the
familiar old river, while the wintry sun hung red and low on the
horizon. The Otter, as knowing all the paths, took charge of the
party, and they trailed out on a bee-line for a distant stile.
Pausing there a moment and looking back, they saw the whole mass
of the Wild Wood, dense, menacing, compact, grimly set in vast
white surroundings; simultaneously they turned and made swiftly
for home, for firelight and the familiar things it played on,
for the voice, sounding cheerily outside their window, of the
river that they knew and trusted in all its moods, that never
made them afraid with any amazement.
As he hurried along, eagerly anticipating the moment when he
would be at home again among the things he knew and liked, the
Mole saw clearly that he was an animal of tilled field and hedge-
row, linked to the ploughed furrow, the frequented pasture, the
lane of evening lingerings, the cultivated garden-plot. For
others the asperities, the stubborn endurance, or the clash of
actual conflict, that went with Nature in the rough; he must be
wise, must keep to the pleasant places in which his lines were
laid and which held adventure enough, in their way, to last for a
lifetime.
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|