The sheep ran huddling together against the hurdles, blowing out thin nostrils and stamping with delicate fore-feet,
their heads thrown back and a light steam rising from the crowded sheep-pen into the frosty air, as the two animals hastened
by in high spirits, with much chatter and laughter. They were returning across country after a long day's outing with Otter,
hunting and exploring on the wide uplands where certain streams tributary to their own River had their first small beginnings;
and the shades of the short winter day were closing in on them, and they had still some distance to go. Plodding at random
across the plough, they had heard the sheep and had made for them; and now, leading from the sheep-pen, they found a beaten
track that made walking a lighter business, and responded, moreover, to that small inquiring something which all animals carry
inside them, saying unmistakably, `Yes, quite right; THIS leads home!'
`It looks as if we were coming to a village,'
said the Mole somewhat dubiously, slackening his pace, as the track, that had in time become a path and then had developed
into a lane, now handed them over to the charge of a well-metalled road. The animals did not hold with villages, and their
own highways, thickly frequented as they were, took an independent course, regardless of church, post office, or public-house.
never mind!' said the Rat. `At this season of the year they're all safe indoors by this time, sitting round the fire; men,
women, and children, dogs and cats and all. We shall slip through all right, without any bother or unpleasantness, and we
can have a look at them through their windows if you like, and see what they're doing.'
The rapid nightfall of mid-December
had quite beset the little village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow. Little was visible
but squares of a dusky orange-red on either side of the street, where the firelight or lamplight of each cottage overflowed
through the casements into the dark world without. Most of the low latticed windows were innocent of blinds, and to the lookers-in
from outside, the inmates, gathered round the tea-table, absorbed in handiwork, or talking with laughter and gesture, had
each that happy grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall capture--the natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness
of observation. Moving at will from one theatre to another, the two spectators, so far from home themselves, had something
of wistfulness in their eyes as they watched a cat being stroked, a sleepy child picked up and huddled off to bed, or a tired
man stretch and knock out his pipe on the end of a smouldering log.
But it was from one little window, with its blind
drawn down, a mere blank transparency on the night, that the sense of home and the little curtained world within walls--the
larger stressful world of outside Nature shut out and forgotten--most pulsated. Close against the white blind hung a bird-cage,
clearly silhouetted, every wire, perch, and appurtenance distinct and recognisable, even to yesterday's dull-edged lump of
sugar. On the middle perch the fluffy occupant, head tucked well into feathers, seemed so near to them as to be easily stroked,
had they tried; even the delicate tips of his plumped-out plumage pencilled plainly on the illuminated screen. As they looked,
the sleepy little fellow stirred uneasily, woke, shook himself, and raised his head. They could see the gape of his tiny beak
as he yawned in a bored sort of way, looked round, and then settled his head into his back again, while the ruffled feathers
gradually subsided into perfect stillness. Then a gust of bitter wind took them in the back of the neck, a small sting of
frozen sleet on the skin woke them as from a dream, and they knew their toes to be cold and their legs tired, and their own
home distant a weary way.
Once beyond the village, where the cottages ceased abruptly, on either side of the road they
could smell through the darkness the friendly fields again; and they braced themselves for the last long stretch, the home
stretch, the stretch that we know is bound to end, some time, in the rattle of the door-latch, the sudden firelight, and the
sight of familiar things greeting us as long-absent travellers from far over-sea. They plodded along steadily and silently,
each of them thinking his own thoughts. The Mole's ran a good deal on supper, as it was pitch-dark, and it was all a strange
country for him as far as he knew, and he was following obediently in the wake of the Rat, leaving the guidance entirely to
him. As for the Rat, he was walking a little way ahead, as his habit was, his shoulders humped, his eyes fixed on the straight
grey road in front of him; so he did not notice poor Mole when suddenly the summons reached him, and took him like an electric
We others, who have long lost the more subtle of the physical senses, have not even proper terms to express
an animal's inter- communications with his surroundings, living or otherwise, and have only the word `smell,' for instance,
to include the whole range of delicate thrills which murmur in the nose of the animal night and day, summoning, warning? inciting,
repelling. It was one of these mysterious fairy calls from out the void that suddenly reached Mole in the darkness, making
him tingle through and through with its very familiar appeal, even while yet he could not clearly remember what it was. He
stopped dead in his tracks, his nose searching hither and thither in its efforts to recapture the fine filament, the telegraphic
current, that had so strongly moved him. A moment, and he had caught it again; and with it this time came recollection in
Home! That was what they meant, those caressing appeals, those soft touches wafted through the air,
those invisible little hands pulling and tugging, all one way! Why, it must be quite close by him at that moment, his old
home that he had hurriedly forsaken and never sought again, that day when he first found the river! And now it was sending
out its scouts and its messengers to capture him and bring him in. Since his escape on that bright morning he had hardly given
it a thought, so absorbed had he been in his new life, in all its pleasures, its surprises, its fresh and captivating experiences.
Now, with a rush of old memories, how clearly it stood up before him, in the darkness! Shabby indeed, and small and poorly
furnished, and yet his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had been so happy to get back to after his day's work.
And the home had been happy with him, too, evidently, and was missing him, and wanted him back, and was telling him so, through
his nose, sorrowfully, reproachfully, but with no bitterness or anger; only with plaintive reminder that it was there, and
The call was clear, the summons was plain. He must obey it instantly, and go. `Ratty!' he called, full
of joyful excitement, `hold on! Come back! I want you, quick!'
`Oh, COME along, Mole, do!' replied the Rat cheerfully,
still plodding along.
`PLEASE stop, Ratty!' pleaded the poor Mole, in anguish of heart. `You don't understand! It's
my home, my old home! I've just come across the smell of it, and it's close by here, really quite close. And I MUST go to
it, I must, I must! Oh, come back, Ratty! Please, please come back!'
The Rat was by this time very far ahead, too far
to hear clearly what the Mole was calling, too far to catch the sharp note of painful appeal in his voice. And he was much
taken up with the weather, for he too could smell something--something suspiciously like approaching snow.
mustn't stop now, really!' he called back. `We'll come for it to-morrow, whatever it is you've found. But I daren't stop now--it's
late, and the snow's coming on again, and I'm not sure of the way! And I want your nose, Mole, so come on quick, there's a
good fellow!' And the Rat pressed forward on his way without waiting for an answer.
Poor Mole stood alone in the road,
his heart torn asunder, and a big sob gathering, gathering, somewhere low down inside him, to leap up to the surface presently,
he knew, in passionate escape. But even under such a test as this his loyalty to his friend stood firm. Never for a moment
did he dream of abandoning him. Meanwhile, the wafts from his old home pleaded, whispered, conjured, and finally claimed him
imperiously. He dared not tarry longer within their magic circle. With a wrench that tore his very heartstrings he set his
face down the road and followed submissively in the track of the Rat, while faint, thin little smells, still dogging his retreating
nose, reproached him for his new friendship and his callous forgetfulness.
With an effort he caught up to the unsuspecting
Rat, who began chattering cheerfully about what they would do when they got back, and how jolly a fire of logs in the parlour
would be, and what a supper he meant to eat; never noticing his companion's silence and distressful state of mind. At last,
however, when they had gone some considerable way further, and were passing some tree-stumps at the edge of a copse that bordered
the road, he stopped and said kindly, `Look here, Mole old chap, you seem dead tired. No talk left in you, and your feet dragging
like lead. We'll sit down here for a minute and rest. The snow has held off so far, and the best part of our journey is over.'
Mole subsided forlornly on a tree-stump and tried to control himself, for he felt it surely coming. The sob he had fought
with so long refused to be beaten. Up and up, it forced its way to the air, and then another, and another, and others thick
and fast; till poor Mole at last gave up the struggle, and cried freely and helplessly and openly, now that he knew it was
all over and he had lost what he could hardly be said to have found.
The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence
of Mole's paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very quietly and sympathetically, `What is
it, old fellow? Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do.'
Poor Mole found it
difficult to get any words out between the upheavals of his chest that followed one upon another so quickly and held back
speech and choked it as it came. `I know it's a-- shabby, dingy little place,' he sobbed forth at last, brokenly: `not like--your
cosy quarters--or Toad's beautiful hall--or Badger's great house--but it was my own little home--and I was fond of it--and
I went away and forgot all about it--and then I smelt it suddenly--on the road, when I called and you wouldn't listen, Rat--and
everything came back to me with a rush--and I WANTED it!--O dear, O dear!--and when you WOULDN'T turn back, Ratty--and I had
to leave it, though I was smelling it all the time--I thought my heart would break.--We might have just gone and had one look
at it, Ratty--only one look--it was close by--but you wouldn't turn back, Ratty, you wouldn't turn back! O dear, O dear!'
brought fresh waves of sorrow, and sobs again took full charge of him, preventing further speech.
The Rat stared straight
in front of him, saying nothing, only patting Mole gently on the shoulder. After a time he muttered gloomily, `I see it all
now! What a PIG I have been! A pig-- that's me! Just a pig--a plain pig!'
He waited till Mole's sobs became gradually
less stormy and more rhythmical; he waited till at last sniffs were frequent and sobs only intermittent. Then he rose from
his seat, and, remarking carelessly, `Well, now we'd really better be getting on, old chap!' set off up the road again, over
the toilsome way they had come.
`Wherever are you (hic) going to (hic), Ratty?' cried the tearful Mole, looking up
`We're going to find that home of yours, old fellow,' replied the Rat pleasantly; `so you had better come
along, for it will take some finding, and we shall want your nose.'
`Oh, come back, Ratty, do!' cried the Mole, getting
up and hurrying after him. `It's no good, I tell you! It's too late, and too dark, and the place is too far off, and the snow's
coming! And--and I never meant to let you know I was feeling that way about it--it was all an accident and a mistake! And
think of River Bank, and your supper!'
`Hang River Bank, and supper too!' said the Rat heartily. `I tell you, I'm going
to find this place now, if I stay out all night. So cheer up, old chap, and take my arm, and we'll very soon be back there
Still snuffling, pleading, and reluctant, Mole suffered himself to be dragged back along the road by his imperious
companion, who by a flow of cheerful talk and anecdote endeavoured to beguile his spirits back and make the weary way seem
shorter. When at last it seemed to the Rat that they must be nearing that part of the road where the Mole had been `held up,'
he said, `Now, no more talking. Business! Use your nose, and give your mind to it.'
They moved on in silence for some
little way, when suddenly the Rat was conscious, through his arm that was linked in Mole's, of a faint sort of electric thrill
that was passing down that animal's body. Instantly he disengaged himself, fell back a pace, and waited, all attention.
signals were coming through!
Mole stood a moment rigid, while his uplifted nose, quivering slightly, felt the air.
a short, quick run forward--a fault--a check--a try back; and then a slow, steady, confident advance.
The Rat, much
excited, kept close to his heels as the Mole, with something of the air of a sleep-walker, crossed a dry ditch, scrambled
through a hedge, and nosed his way over a field open and trackless and bare in the faint starlight.
giving warning, he dived; but the Rat was on the alert, and promptly followed him down the tunnel to which his unerring nose
had faithfully led him.
It was close and airless, and the earthy smell was strong, and it seemed a long time to Rat
ere the passage ended and he could stand erect and stretch and shake himself. The Mole struck a match, and by its light the
Rat saw that they were standing in an open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot, and directly facing them was Mole's little
front door, with `Mole End' painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the side.
Mole reached down a lantern
from a nail on the wail and lit it, and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of fore-court. A garden-seat
stood on one side of the door, and on the other a roller; for the Mole, who was a tidy animal when at home, could not stand
having his ground kicked up by other animals into little runs that ended in earth-heaps. On the walls hung wire baskets with
ferns in them, alternating with brackets carrying plaster statuary--Garibaldi, and the infant Samuel, and Queen Victoria,
and other heroes of modern Italy. Down on one side of the forecourt ran a skittle-alley, with benches along it and little
wooden tables marked with rings that hinted at beer- mugs. In the middle was a small round pond containing gold-fish and surrounded
by a cockle-shell border. Out of the centre of the pond rose a fanciful erection clothed in more cockle-shells and topped
by a large silvered glass ball that reflected everything all wrong and had a very pleasing effect.
at the sight of all these objects so dear to him, and he hurried Rat through the door, lit a lamp in the hall, and took one
glance round his old home. He saw the dust lying thick on everything, saw the cheerless, deserted look of the long-neglected
house, and its narrow, meagre dimensions, its worn and shabby contents--and collapsed again on a hall-chair, his nose to his
paws. `O Ratty!' he cried dismally, `why ever did I do it? Why did I bring you to this poor, cold little place, on a night
like this, when you might have been at River Bank by this time, toasting your toes before a blazing fire, with all your own
nice things about you!'
The Rat paid no heed to his doleful self-reproaches. He was running here and there, opening
doors, inspecting rooms and cupboards, and lighting lamps and candles and sticking them, up everywhere. `What a capital little
house this is!' he called out cheerily. `So compact! So well planned! Everything here and everything in its place! We'll make
a jolly night of it. The first thing we want is a good fire; I'll see to that--I always know where to find things. So this
is the parlour? Splendid! Your own idea, those little sleeping-bunks in the wall? Capital! Now, I'll fetch the wood and the
coals, and you get a duster, Mole--you'll find one in the drawer of the kitchen table--and try and smarten things up a bit.
Bustle about, old chap!'
Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and dusted and polished with
energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney.
He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark
despair and burying his face in his duster. `Rat,' he moaned, `how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal?
I've nothing to give you--nothing-- not a crumb!'
`What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproachfully.
`Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there
are sardines about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself together, and come with me and forage.'
went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing
after all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines--a box of captain's biscuits, nearly full--and a
German sausage encased in silver paper.
`There's a banquet for you!' observed the Rat, as he arranged the table. `I
know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to supper with us to-night!'
`No bread!' groaned the
Mole dolorously; `no butter, no----'
`No pate de foie gras, no champagne!' continued the Rat, grinning. `And that reminds
me--what's that little door at the end of the passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a
He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and
another under each arm, `Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,' he observed. `Deny yourself nothing. This is really
the jolliest little place I ever was in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so home-like, they
do. No wonder you're so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all about it, and how you came to make it what it is.'
the Rat busied himself fetching plates, and knives and forks, and mustard which he mixed in an egg-cup, the Mole, his bosom
still heaving with the stress of his recent emotion, related--somewhat shyly at first, but with more freedom as he warmed
to his subject--how this was planned, and how that was thought out, and how this was got through a windfall from an aunt,
and that was a wonderful find and a bargain, and this other thing was bought out of laborious savings and a certain amount
of `going without.' His spirits finally quite restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and take a lamp and show
off their points to his visitor and expatiate on them, quite forgetful of the supper they both so much needed; Rat, who was
desperately hungry but strove to conceal it, nodding seriously, examining with a puckered brow, and saying, `wonderful,' and
`most remarkable,' at intervals, when the chance for an observation was given him.
At last the Rat succeeded in decoying
him to the table, and had just got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when sounds were heard from the fore-court without--sounds
like the scuffling of small feet in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices, while broken sentences reached them--`Now,
all in a line--hold the lantern up a bit, Tommy--clear your throats first--no coughing after I say one, two, three.--Where's
young Bill?--Here, come on, do, we're all a-waiting----'
`What's up?' inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.
think it must be the field-mice,' replied the Mole, with a touch of pride in his manner. `They go round carol-singing regularly
at this time of the year. They're quite an institution in these parts. And they never pass me over--they come to Mole End
last of all; and I used to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford it. It will be like old times
to hear them again.'
`Let's have a look at them!' cried the Rat, jumping up and running to the door.
a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim
rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little fieldmice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats,
their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at
each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat- sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones
that carried the lantern was just saying, `Now then, one, two, three!' and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on
the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost,
or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.
all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us
in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!
Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet--
You by the fire and we in the street--
you joy in the morning!
For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and
Bliss to-morrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!
Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow--
Saw the star o'er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go--
Welcome thatch, and litter below!
hers in the morning!
And then they heard the angels tell
`Who were the first to cry NOWELL?
Animals all, as
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!'
The voices ceased,
the singers, bashful but smiling, exchanged sidelong glances, and silence succeeded--but for a moment only. Then, from up
above and far away, down the tunnel they had so lately travelled was borne to their ears in a faint musical hum the sound
of distant bells ringing a joyful and clangorous peal.
`Very well sung, boys!' cried the Rat heartily. `And now come
along in, all of you, and warm yourselves by the fire, and have something hot!'
`Yes, come along, field-mice,' cried
the Mole eagerly. `This is quite like old times! Shut the door after you. Pull up that settle to the fire. Now, you just wait
a minute, while we--O, Ratty!' he cried in despair, plumping down on a seat, with tears impending. `Whatever are we doing?
We've nothing to give them!'
`You leave all that to me,' said the masterful Rat. `Here, you with the lantern! Come
over this way. I want to talk to you. Now, tell me, are there any shops open at this hour of the night?'
sir,' replied the field-mouse respectfully. `At this time of the year our shops keep open to all sorts of hours.'
look here!' said the Rat. `You go off at once, you and your lantern, and you get me----'
Here much muttered conversation
ensued, and the Mole only heard bits of it, such as--`Fresh, mind!--no, a pound of that will do-- see you get Buggins's, for
I won't have any other--no, only the best--if you can't get it there, try somewhere else--yes, of course, home-made, no tinned
stuff--well then, do the best you can!' Finally, there was a chink of coin passing from paw to paw, the field-mouse was provided
with an ample basket for his purchases, and off he hurried, he and his lantern.
The rest of the field-mice, perched
in a row on the settle, their small legs swinging, gave themselves up to enjoyment of the fire, and toasted their chilblains
till they tingled; while the Mole, failing to draw them into easy conversation, plunged into family history and made each
of them recite the names of his numerous brothers, who were too young, it appeared, to be allowed to go out a-carolling this
year, but looked forward very shortly to winning the parental consent.
The Rat, meanwhile, was busy examining the label
on one of the beer-bottles. `I perceive this to be Old Burton,' he remarked approvingly. `SENSIBLE Mole! The very thing! Now
we shall be able to mull some ale! Get the things ready, Mole, while I draw the corks.'
It did not take long to prepare
the brew and thrust the tin heater well into the red heart of the fire; and soon every field- mouse was sipping and coughing
and choking (for a little mulled ale goes a long way) and wiping his eyes and laughing and forgetting he had ever been cold
in all his life.
`They act plays too, these fellows,' the Mole explained to the Rat. `Make them up all by themselves,
and act them afterwards. And very well they do it, too! They gave us a capital one last year, about a field-mouse who was
captured at sea by a Barbary corsair, and made to row in a galley; and when he escaped and got home again, his lady-love had
gone into a convent. Here, YOU! You were in it, I remember. Get up and recite a bit.'
The field-mouse addressed got
up on his legs, giggled shyly, looked round the room, and remained absolutely tongue-tied. His comrades cheered him on, Mole
coaxed and encouraged him, and the Rat went so far as to take him by the shoulders and shake him; but nothing could overcome
his stage-fright. They were all busily engaged on him like watermen applying the Royal Humane Society's regulations to a case
of long submersion, when the latch clicked, the door opened, and the field-mouse with the lantern reappeared, staggering under
the weight of his basket.
There was no more talk of play-acting once the very real and solid contents of the basket
had been tumbled out on the table. Under the generalship of Rat, everybody was set to do something or to fetch something.
In a very few minutes supper was ready, and Mole, as he took the head of the table in a sort of a dream, saw a lately barren
board set thick with savoury comforts; saw his little friends' faces brighten and beam as they fell to without delay; and
then let himself loose--for he was famished indeed--on the provender so magically provided, thinking what a happy home-coming
this had turned out, after all. As they ate, they talked of old times, and the field-mice gave him the local gossip up to
date, and answered as well as they could the hundred questions he had to ask them. The Rat said little or nothing, only taking
care that each guest had what he wanted, and plenty of it, and that Mole had no trouble or anxiety about anything.
clattered off at last, very grateful and showering wishes of the season, with their jacket pockets stuffed with remembrances
for the small brothers and sisters at home. When the door had closed on the last of them and the chink of the lanterns had
died away, Mole and Rat kicked the fire up, drew their chairs in, brewed themselves a last nightcap of mulled ale, and discussed
the events of the long day. At last the Rat, with a tremendous yawn, said, `Mole, old chap, I'm ready to drop. Sleepy is simply
not the word. That your own bunk over on that side? Very well, then, I'll take this. What a ripping little house this is!
Everything so handy!'
He clambered into his bunk and rolled himself well up in the blankets, and slumber gathered him
forthwith, as a swathe of barley is folded into the arms of the reaping machine.
The weary Mole also was glad to turn
in without delay, and soon had his head on his pillow, in great joy and contentment. But ere he closed his eyes he let them
wander round his old room, mellow in the glow of the firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things which
had long been unconsciously a part of him, and now smilingly received him back, without rancour. He was now in just the frame
of mind that the tactful Rat had quietly worked to bring about in him. He saw clearly how plain and simple--how narrow, even--it
all was; but clearly, too, how much it all meant to him, and the special value of some such anchorage in one's existence.
He did not at all want to abandon the new life and its splendid spaces, to turn his back on sun and air and all they offered
him and creep home and stay there; the upper world was all too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew
he must return to the larger stage. But it was good to think he had this to come back to; this place which was all his own,
these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple welcome.
all the images here are
©Estate of E H Shepard 2004.
and are used, here, for
educational purposes only