THE WILD WOOD
The Mole had long wanted to make the acquaintance of the Badger. He seemed, by all accounts, to be such an important
personage and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen influence felt by everybody about the place. But whenever the Mole
mentioned his wish to the Water Rat he always found himself put off. `It's all right,' the Rat would say. `Badger'll turn
up some day or other--he's always turning up--and then I'll introduce you. The best of fellows! But you must not only take
him AS you find him, but WHEN you find him.
' Couldn't you ask him here dinner or something?' said the Mole.
`He wouldn't come,' replied the Rat simply. `Badger
hates Society, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of thing.'
`Well, then, supposing we go and call on HIM?'
suggested the Mole.
`O, I'm sure he wouldn't like that at ALL,' said the Rat, quite alarmed. `He's so very shy, he'd
be sure to be offended. I've never even ventured to call on him at his own home myself, though I know him so well. Besides,
we can't. It's quite out of the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild Wood.'
`Well, supposing he
does,' said the Mole. `You told me the Wild Wood was all right, you know.'
`O, I know, I know, so it is,' replied the
Rat evasively. `But I think we won't go there just now. Not JUST yet. It's a long way, and he wouldn't be at home at this
time of year anyhow, and he'll be coming along some day, if you'll wait quietly.
The Mole had to be content with this. But the Badger never came along, and every day brought its amusements, and it was
not till summer was long over, and cold and frost and miry ways kept them much indoors, and the swollen river raced past outside
their windows with a speed that mocked at boating of any sort or kind, that he found his thoughts dwelling again with much
persistence on the solitary grey Badger, who lived his own life by himself, in his hole in the middle of the Wild Wood.
the winter time the Rat slept a great deal, retiring early and rising late. During his short day he sometimes scribbled poetry
or did other small domestic jobs about the house; and, of course, there were always animals dropping in for a chat, and consequently
there was a good deal of story-telling and comparing notes on the past summer and all its doings.
Such a rich chapter
it had been, when one came to look back on it all! With illustrations so numerous and so very highly coloured! The pageant
of the river bank had marched steadily along, unfolding itself in scene-pictures that succeeded each other in stately procession.
Purple loosestrife arrived early, shaking luxuriant tangled locks along the edge of the mirror whence its own face laughed
back at it. Willow-herb, tender and wistful, like a pink sunset cloud, was not slow to follow. Comfrey, the purple hand-in-hand
with the white, crept forth to take its place in the line; and at last one morning the diffident and delaying dog-rose stepped
delicately on the stage, and one knew, as if string-music had announced it in stately chords that strayed into a gavotte,
that June at last was here. One member of the company was still awaited; the shepherd-boy for the nymphs to woo, the knight
for whom the ladies waited at the window, the prince that was to kiss the sleeping summer back to life and love. But when
meadow-sweet, debonair and odorous in amber jerkin, moved graciously to his place in the group, then the play was ready to
And what a play it had been! Drowsy animals, snug in their holes while wind and rain were battering at their
doors, recalled still keen mornings, an hour before sunrise, when the white mist, as yet undispersed, clung closely along
the surface of the water; then the shock of the early plunge, the scamper along the bank, and the radiant transformation of
earth, air, and water, when suddenly the sun was with them again, and grey was gold and colour was born and sprang out of
the earth once more. They recalled the languorous siesta of hot mid-day, deep in green undergrowth, the sun striking through
in tiny golden shafts and spots; the boating and bathing of the afternoon, the rambles along dusty lanes and through yellow
cornfields; and the long, cool evening at last, when so many threads were gathered up, so many friendships rounded, and so
many adventures planned for the morrow. There was plenty to talk about on those short winter days when the animals found themselves
round the fire; still, the Mole had a good deal of spare time on his hands, and so one afternoon, when the Rat in his arm-chair
before the blaze was alternately dozing and trying over rhymes that wouldn't fit, he formed the resolution to go out by himself
and explore the Wild Wood, and perhaps strike up an acquaintance with Mr. Badger.
It was a cold still afternoon with
a hard steely sky overhead, when he slipped out of the warm parlour into the open air. The country lay bare and entirely leafless
around him, and he thought that he had never seen so far and so intimately into the insides of things as on that winter day
when Nature was deep in her annual slumber and seemed to have kicked the clothes off. Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden
places, which had been mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now exposed themselves and their secrets pathetically,
and seemed to ask him to overlook their shabby poverty for a while, till they could riot in rich masquerade as before, and
trick and entice him with the old deceptions. It was pitiful in a way, and yet cheering-- even exhilarating. He was glad that
he liked the country undecorated, hard, and stripped of its finery. He had got down to the bare bones of it, and they were
fine and strong and simple. He did not want the warm clover and the play of seeding grasses; the screens of quickset, the
billowy drapery of beech and elm seemed best away; and with great cheerfulness of spirit he pushed on towards the Wild Wood,
which lay before him low and threatening, like a black reef in some still southern sea.
There was nothing to alarm
him at first entry. Twigs crackled under his feet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps resembled caricatures, and startled
him for the moment by their likeness to something familiar and far away; but that was all fun, and exciting. It led him on,
and he penetrated to where the light was less, and trees crouched nearer and nearer, and holes made ugly mouths at him on
Everything was very still now. The dusk advanced on him steadily, rapidly, gathering in behind and before;
and the light seemed to be draining away like flood-water.
Then the faces began.
It was over his shoulder, and
indistinctly, that he first thought he saw a face; a little evil wedge-shaped face, looking out at him from a hole. When he
turned and confronted it, the thing had vanished.
He quickened his pace, telling himself cheerfully not to begin imagining
things, or there would be simply no end to it. He passed another hole, and another, and another; and then--yes!-- no!--yes!
certainly a little narrow face, with hard eyes, had flashed up for an instant from a hole, and was gone. He hesitated--braced
himself up for an effort and strode on. Then suddenly, and as if it had been so all the time, every hole, far and near, and
there were hundreds of them, seemed to possess its face, coming and going rapidly, all fixing on him glances of malice and
hatred: all hard-eyed and evil and sharp.
If he could only get away from the holes in the banks, he thought, there
would be no more faces. He swung off the path and plunged into the untrodden places of the wood.
Then the whistling
Very faint and shrill it was, and far behind him, when first he heard it; but somehow it made him hurry forward.
Then, still very faint and shrill, it sounded far ahead of him, and made him hesitate and want to go back. As he halted in
indecision it broke out on either side, and seemed to be caught up and passed on throughout the whole length of the wood to
its farthest limit. They were up and alert and ready, evidently, whoever they were! And he--he was alone, and unarmed, and
far from any help; and the night was closing in.
Then the pattering began.
He thought it was only falling leaves
at first, so slight and delicate was the sound of it. Then as it grew it took a regular rhythm, and he knew it for nothing
else but the pat-pat-pat of little feet still a very long way off. Was it in front or behind? It seemed to be first one, and
then the other, then both. It grew and it multiplied, till from every quarter as he listened anxiously, leaning this way and
that, it seemed to be closing in on him. As he stood still to hearken, a rabbit came running hard towards him through the
trees. He waited, expecting it to slacken pace, or to swerve from him into a different course. Instead, the animal almost
brushed him as it dashed past, his face set and hard, his eyes staring. `Get out of this, you fool, get out!' the Mole heard
him mutter as he swung round a stump and disappeared down a friendly burrow.
The pattering increased till it sounded
like sudden hail on the dry leaf-carpet spread around him. The whole wood seemed running now, running hard, hunting, chasing,
closing in round something or--somebody? In panic, he began to run too, aimlessly, he knew not whither. He ran up against
things, he fell over things and into things, he darted under things and dodged round things. At last he took refuge in the
deep dark hollow of an old beech tree, which offered shelter, concealment--perhaps even safety, but who could tell? Anyhow,
he was too tired to run any further, and could only snuggle down into the dry leaves which had drifted into the hollow and
hope he was safe for a time. And as he lay there panting and trembling, and listened to the whistlings and the patterings
outside, he knew it at last, in all its fullness, that dread thing which other little dwellers in field and hedgerow had encountered
here, and known as their darkest moment--that thing which the Rat had vainly tried to shield him from--the Terror of the Wild
Meantime the Rat, warm and comfortable, dozed by his fireside. His paper of half-finished verses slipped from
his knee, his head fell back, his mouth opened, and he wandered by the verdant banks of dream-rivers. Then a coal slipped,
the fire crackled and sent up a spurt of flame, and he woke with a start. Remembering what he had been engaged upon, he reached
down to the floor for his verses, pored over them for a minute, and then looked round for the Mole to ask him if he knew a
good rhyme for something or other.
But the Mole was not there.
He listened for a time. The house seemed very
Then he called `Moly!' several times, and, receiving no answer, got up and went out into the hall.
Mole's cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His goloshes, which always lay by the umbrella-stand, were also gone.
Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy surface of the ground outside, hoping to find the Mole's tracks. There
they were, sure enough. The goloshes were new, just bought for the winter, and the pimples on their soles were fresh and sharp.
He could see the imprints of them in the mud, running along straight and purposeful, leading direct to the Wild Wood.
Rat looked very grave, and stood in deep thought for a minute or two. Then he re-entered the house, strapped a belt round
his waist, shoved a brace of pistols into it, took up a stout cudgel that stood in a corner of the hall, and set off for the
Wild Wood at a smart pace.
It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first fringe of trees and plunged
without hesitation into the wood, looking anxiously on either side for any sign of his friend. Here and there wicked little
faces popped out of holes, but vanished immediately at sight of the valorous animal, his pistols, and the great ugly cudgel
in his grasp; and the whistling and pattering, which he had heard quite plainly on his first entry, died away and ceased,
and all was very still. He made his way manfully through the length of the wood, to its furthest edge; then, forsaking all
paths, he set himself to traverse it, laboriously working over the whole ground, and all the time calling out cheerfully,
`Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are you? It's me--it's old Rat!'
He had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or more,
when at last to his joy he heard a little answering cry. Guiding himself by the sound, he made his way through the gathering
darkness to the foot of an old beech tree, with a hole in it, and from out of the hole came a feeble voice, saying `Ratty!
Is that really you?'
The Rat crept into the hollow, and there he found the Mole, exhausted and still trembling. `O
Rat!' he cried, `I've been so frightened, you can't think!'
`O, I quite understand,' said the Rat soothingly. `You
shouldn't really have gone and done it, Mole. I did my best to keep you from it. We river-bankers, we hardly ever come here
by ourselves. If we have to come, we come in couples, at least; then we're generally all right. Besides, there are a hundred
things one has to know, which we understand all about and you don't, as yet. I mean passwords, and signs, and sayings which
have power and effect, and plants you carry in your pocket, and verses you repeat, and dodges and tricks you practise; all
simple enough when you know them, but they've got to be known if you're small, or you'll find yourself in trouble. Of course
if you were Badger or Otter, it would be quite another matter.'
`Surely the brave Mr. Toad wouldn't mind coming here
by himself, would he?' inquired the Mole.
`Old Toad?' said the Rat, laughing heartily. `He wouldn't show his face here
alone, not for a whole hatful of golden guineas, Toad wouldn't.'
The Mole was greatly cheered by the sound of the Rat's
careless laughter, as well as by the sight of his stick and his gleaming pistols, and he stopped shivering and began to feel
bolder and more himself again.
`Now then,' said the Rat presently, `we really must pull ourselves together and make
a start for home while there's still a little light left. It will never do to spend the night here, you understand. Too cold,
for one thing.'
`Dear Ratty,' said the poor Mole, `I'm dreadfully sorry, but I'm simply dead beat and that's a solid
fact. You MUST let me rest here a while longer, and get my strength back, if I'm to get home at all.'
`O, all right,'
said the good-natured Rat, `rest away. It's pretty nearly pitch dark now, anyhow; and there ought to be a bit of a moon later.'
the Mole got well into the dry leaves and stretched himself out, and presently dropped off into sleep, though of a broken
and troubled sort; while the Rat covered himself up, too, as best he might, for warmth, and lay patiently waiting, with a
pistol in his paw.
When at last the Mole woke up, much refreshed and in his usual spirits, the Rat said, `Now then!
I'll just take a look outside and see if everything's quiet, and then we really must be off.'
He went to the entrance
of their retreat and put his head out. Then the Mole heard him saying quietly to himself, `Hullo! hullo! here-- is--a--go!'
up, Ratty?' asked the Mole.
`SNOW is up,' replied the Rat briefly; `or rather, DOWN. It's snowing hard.'
Mole came and crouched beside him, and, looking out, saw the wood that had been so dreadful to him in quite a changed aspect.
Holes, hollows, pools, pitfalls, and other black menaces to the wayfarer were vanishing fast, and a gleaming carpet of faery
was springing up everywhere, that looked too delicate to be trodden upon by rough feet. A fine powder filled the air and caressed
the cheek with a tingle in its touch, and the black boles of the trees showed up in a light that seemed to come from below.
well, it can't be helped,' said the Rat, after pondering. `We must make a start, and take our chance, I suppose. The worst
of it is, I don't exactly know where we are. And now this snow makes everything look so very different.'
It did indeed.
The Mole would not have known that it was the same wood. However, they set out bravely, and took the line that seemed most
promising, holding on to each other and pretending with invincible cheerfulness that they recognized an old friend in every
fresh tree that grimly and silently greeted them, or saw openings, gaps, or paths with a familiar turn in them, in the monotony
of white space and black tree-trunks that refused to vary.
An hour or two later--they had lost all count of time--they
pulled up, dispirited, weary, and hopelessly at sea, and sat down on a fallen tree-trunk to recover their breath and consider
what was to be done. They were aching with fatigue and bruised with tumbles; they had fallen into several holes and got wet
through; the snow was getting so deep that they could hardly drag their little legs through it, and the trees were thicker
and more like each other than ever. There seemed to be no end to this wood, and no beginning, and no difference in it, and,
worst of all, no way out.
`We can't sit here very long,' said the Rat. `We shall have to make another push for it,
and do something or other. The cold is too awful for anything, and the snow will soon be too deep for us to wade through.'
He peered about him and considered. `Look here,' he went on, `this is what occurs to me. There's a sort of dell down here
in front of us, where the ground seems all hilly and humpy and hummocky. We'll make our way down into that, and try and find
some sort of shelter, a cave or hole with a dry floor to it, out of the snow and the wind, and there we'll have a good rest
before we try again, for we're both of us pretty dead beat. Besides, the snow may leave off, or something may turn up.'
once more they got on their feet, and struggled down into the dell, where they hunted about for a cave or some corner that
was dry and a protection from the keen wind and the whirling snow. They were investigating one of the hummocky bits the Rat
had spoken of, when suddenly the Mole tripped up and fell forward on his face with a squeal.
`O my leg!' he cried.
`O my poor shin!' and he sat up on the snow and nursed his leg in both his front paws.
`Poor old Mole!' said the Rat
`You don't seem to be having much luck to-day, do you? Let's have a look at the leg. Yes,' he went on, going
down on his knees to look, `you've cut your shin, sure enough. Wait till I get at my handkerchief, and I'll tie it up for
`I must have tripped over a hidden branch or a stump,' said the Mole miserably. `O, my! O, my!'
a very clean cut,' said the Rat, examining it again attentively. `That was never done by a branch or a stump. Looks as if
it was made by a sharp edge of something in metal. Funny!' He pondered awhile, and examined the humps and slopes that surrounded
`Well, never mind what done it,' said the Mole, forgetting his grammar in his pain. `It hurts just the same,
whatever done it.'
But the Rat, after carefully tying up the leg with his handkerchief, had left him and was busy scraping
in the snow. He scratched and shovelled and explored, all four legs working busily, while the Mole waited impatiently, remarking
at intervals, `O, COME on, Rat!'
Suddenly the Rat cried `Hooray!' and then `Hooray-oo-ray-oo-ray- oo-ray!' and fell
to executing a feeble jig in the snow.
`What HAVE you found, Ratty?' asked the Mole, still nursing his leg.
and see!' said the delighted Rat, as he jigged on.
The Mole hobbled up to the spot and had a good look.
he said at last, slowly, `I SEE it right enough. Seen the same sort of thing before, lots of times. Familiar object, I call
it. A door-scraper! Well, what of it? Why dance jigs around a door-scraper?'
`But don't you see what it MEANS, you--you
dull-witted animal?' cried the Rat impa-tiently.
`Of course I see what it means,' replied the Mole. `It simply means
that some VERY careless and forgetful person has left his door-scraper lying about in the middle of the Wild Wood, JUST where
it's SURE to trip EVERYBODY up. Very thoughtless of him, I call it. When I get home I shall go and complain about it to--to
somebody or other, see if I don't!'
`O, dear! O, dear!' cried the Rat, in despair at his obtuseness. `Here, stop arguing
and come and scrape!' And he set to work again and made the snow fly in all directions around him.
After some further
toil his efforts were rewarded, and a very shabby door-mat lay exposed to view.
`There, what did I tell you?' exclaimed
the Rat in great triumph.
`Absolutely nothing whatever,' replied the Mole, with perfect truthfulness. `Well now,' he
went on, `you seem to have found another piece of domestic litter, done for and thrown away, and I suppose you're perfectly
happy. Better go ahead and dance your jig round that if you've got to, and get it over, and then perhaps we can go on and
not waste any more time over rubbish- heaps. Can we EAT a doormat? or sleep under a door-mat? Or sit on a door-mat and sledge
home over the snow on it, you exasperating rodent?'
`Do--you--mean--to--say,' cried the excited Rat, `that this door-
mat doesn't TELL you anything?'
`Really, Rat,' said the Mole, quite pettishly, `I think we'd had enough of this folly.
Who ever heard of a door-mat TELLING anyone anything? They simply don't do it. They are not that sort at all. Door-mats know
`Now look here, you--you thick-headed beast,' replied the Rat, really angry, `this must stop. Not another
word, but scrape-- scrape and scratch and dig and hunt round, especially on the sides of the hummocks, if you want to sleep
dry and warm to- night, for it's our last chance!'
The Rat attacked a snow-bank beside them with ardour, probing with
his cudgel everywhere and then digging with fury; and the Mole scraped busily too, more to oblige the Rat than for any other
reason, for his opinion was that his friend was getting light-headed.
Some ten minutes' hard work, and the point of
the Rat's cudgel struck something that sounded hollow. He worked till he could get a paw through and feel; then called the
Mole to come and help him. Hard at it went the two animals, till at last the result of their labours stood full in view of
the astonished and hitherto incredulous Mole.
In the side of what had seemed to be a snow-bank stood a solid- looking
little door, painted a dark green. An iron bell-pull hung by the side, and below it, on a small brass plate, neatly engraved
in square capital letters, they could read by the aid of moonlight
The Mole fell backwards on the
snow from sheer surprise and delight. `Rat!' he cried in penitence, `you're a wonder! A real wonder, that's what you are.
I see it all now! You argued it out, step by step, in that wise head of yours, from the very moment that I fell and cut my
shin, and you looked at the cut, and at once your majestic mind said to itself, "Door-scraper!" And then you turned to and
found the very door-scraper that done it! Did you stop there? No. Some people would have been quite satisfied; but not you.
Your intellect went on working. "Let me only just find a door-mat," says you to yourself, "and my theory is proved!" And of
course you found your door-mat. You're so clever, I believe you could find anything you liked. "Now," says you, "that door
exists, as plain as if I saw it. There's nothing else remains to be done but to find it!" Well, I've read about that sort
of thing in books, but I've never come across it before in real life. You ought to go where you'll be properly appreciated.
You're simply wasted here, among us fellows. If I only had your head, Ratty----'
`But as you haven't,' interrupted
the Rat, rather unkindly, `I suppose you're going to sit on the snow all night and TALK Get up at once and hang on to that
bell-pull you see there, and ring hard, as hard as you can, while I hammer!'
While the Rat attacked the door with his
stick, the Mole sprang up at the bell-pull, clutched it and swung there, both feet well off the ground, and from quite a long
way off they could faintly hear a deep-toned bell respond.
all the images here are
©Estate of E H Shepard 2004.
and are used, here, for
educational purposes only