1 The River Bank

The Mole had been working very hard all morning, spring-cleaning his little home. There were splashes of whitewash all over his black fur. His back ached and his arms were tired.

It was spring in the world outside. Mole could feel the fresh air and sunshine calling to him in his dark, underground burrow.

Suddenly he threw his brush down.

"Bother!" he said. "Oh, blow!" he said. "Hang spring-cleaning!" He bolted out of the house and scrambled up the steep narrow tunnel which was his front entrance.

He had to scrape and scratch, and scrabble and scrooge with his little paws, muttering to himself all the time, "Up we go! Up we go!" At last—pop!—his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

"This is fine!" he said to himself. "This is better than whitewashing!"

He bounded joyfully across the meadow, till he reached a gap in the hedge, pushing past an elderly rabbit who said "Sixpence for using our private road!" As he crossed the fields, he suddenly came out on the bank of a River.

He had never seen one before. The water was full of life and movement, glints and gleams and sparkles, chatter and bubble. The Mole trotted along beside it, fascinated, until he was tired out.

He sat down on the grassy bank and listened to the sound of the water. As he looked at the opposite bank, he saw a dark hole. Something bright and small twinkled in it. It winked, and he saw it was an eye! Then a small face appeared.

A brown little face with whiskers.

Small meat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!

The animals stood and looked at each other.

"Hello, Mole!" said the Water Rat.

"Hello, Rat!" said the Mole.

"Would you like to come over?"

"How can I get to you?" said Mole, not knowing the ways of the River.

The Rat stooped down and unfastened a rope. He hauled up a little blue and white boat, just the size for two animals. He rowed across, and gave Mole his paw, to step down timidly into it.

The two animals made friends at once. Ratty was very surprised to hear that Mole had never been in a boat before.

"There is nothing half so much worth doing," he told Mole, "as simply messing about in boats."

Then he had an idea. "Look here, if you've really nothing else to do this morning, why don't we go down the river together and make a long day of it?"

"Let's start at once!" said Mole, settling back happily into the soft cushions.

The rat fetched a wicker picnic basket. "Shove that under your feet!"

"What's inside?"

"There's cold chicken inside," said Rat, "cold-tongue-cold-ham-cold-beef-pickled-onions-salad-french-bread-cress-and-widge-spotted-meat-ginger-beer-lemonade—"

"Oh stop!" cried Mole in ecstasy. "This is too much!"

"Do you think so?" said Rat, seriously. "It's only what I always take on these little outings."

Rat rowed silently down the river, while Mole took in all the new sights, smells and sounds, and trailed his paw lazily in the water. The Water Rat enjoyed his friend's pleasure and explained why he loved the river so.

"It's my world and I don't want any other."

"But isn't it a bit dull at times?" asked Mole. "Just you and the river, and nobody else?"

"Nobody else! You must be joking! It's full of people—too many of them sometimes—otters, moorhens, ducks and so on, about all day long!"

"What lies over there?" asked Mole, waving a paw towards a dark background of woodland, beyond the fields.

"Oh, that's just the Wild Wood. We don't go there much, we Riverbankers."

"Aren't they—very nice people in there?" asked Mole nervously.

"Well—the squirrels are all right. The rabbits are a mixed lot. And Badger's all right. Nobody interferes with him. They'd better not!"

"Why, who should interfere with him?" asked Mole.

"There are others—weasels—and stoats—and foxes and so on. All right in a way. But you can't trust them, and that's a fact."

"And beyond the Wild Wood again? Where it's all blue and dim and there's hills—something like the smoke from towns?"

"Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World," said Rat, "and that's something that doesn't matter to you or me."

So they began their picnic, and Mole tucked in, for it was a long time since breakfast.

While they were eating, they met two of Rat's friends. One was the Otter, swimming underwater to catch fish. He climbed out on the bank, shook himself, and had a word with them. Drops of water glistened on his whiskers.

The other was Mr Badger, whose stripy head suddenly pushed through the thorny hedge. He grunted, "H'm! Company!" and disappeared.

Mr Toad was on the river, too, the Otter told them. Suddenly he shot past in a brand new racing skiff. He was short and fat, splashing badly, and rolling from side to side.

"He'll never do well in a boat," said Rat.

"Not steady enough," said Otter, and suddenly vanished after a fish. A stream of bubbles on the water was all that could be seen of him.

"Toad's always trying something new," explained Rat. "Last year he had a houseboat. But he soon gets tired of things."

The Rat and the Mole went back to Rat's snug home in the River Bank and sat in armchairs beside a bright fire, chatting away. Rat invited Mole to stay with him for the rest of the summer. The happy Mole went to sleep in a comfy bedroom. His newly-found friend, the River, was lapping against the bank and he could hear the wind, whispering in the willows.

2 The Open Road

Next day the Water Rat took Mole to visit Mr Toad, who lived nearby in a handsome old house called Toad Hall. It was built of mellow red brick and had lawns reaching down to the river. Toad was rather rich, but not a very sensible animal. Ratty and Badger had to keep an eye on him. He was good-natured, but inclined to show off, and he was always getting into trouble.

The friends found him sitting in a deck-chair in the garden, looking at a road map. He had bought a gipsy caravan, painted bright yellow, with green wheels. There was an old grey horse to draw it. Toad was planning his first trip and persuaded Mole and Rat to go along with him.

Toad was bouncing about, full of the joys of the Open Road—its freedom and fresh air. "Here today and somewhere else tomorrow! Across the rolling downs!" he cried excitedly

The three of them set out, but before they had gone very far, disaster struck!

They were walking along the country lane quite happily, leading the horse. Suddenly a loud POOP! POOP was heard.

A magnificent motor-car, all plateglass and chromium, flashed past them, flinging out a cloud of blinding dust. Then it was gone, a speck in the distance.

The poor horse was frightened and bolted. The caravan turned over and fell into the ditch. Its windows were smashed and one wheel came off.

Ratty and MOle were furious. "You roadhog!" they shouted, shaking their fists. But Toad just sat there in the dust, a dazed look in his eyes, muttering "POOP! POOP!" He did not care about the wrecked caravan. He was already thinking how marvellous it would be to drive a car.

Next day, on the River Bank, everyone was talking about the latest news.

"Have you heard? Toad went up to London by an early train this morning. And he has ordered—what do you think?—a large and very expensive motor-car!"

3 The Wild Wood

The long, hot summer had ended at last. Now it was winter. Mole was still staying with Ratty, on the River Bank.

One cold afternoon, the Mole decided to go to the Wild Wood, and visit Mr Badger. He was the only one of Rat's friends that the Mole had not met properly, as he was not very sociable. In the winter most animals stay at home and rest, after an active summer. Some of them go to sleep for most of the time, and you cannot persuade them to do very much.

So Mole knew that if he wanted to see Mr Badger, he would have to call on him.

He slipped out of Ratty's warm parlour into the open air. The sky was steely. The countryside was bare. Twigs crackled under Mole's feet. Trees took on ugly, crouching shapes. The light faded. Mole began to feel frightened.

Then the faces began—little, evil, wedge-shaped faces, looking out of holes, and then vanishing. Mole kept up his pace and, looking round, saw every hole with a face in it, all fixing him with evil, sharp looks.

Then the whistling began. Very faint and shrill, behind, and then ahead of him. Mole was alone, and far from help, and night was closing in.

Then the pattering began. Tiny feet pursuing him, rustling through the fallen leaves. He ran, and started bumping into trees.

Meanwhile, Rat had discovered Mole was not at home. He saw his footprints outside, leading to the Wild Wood. Seizing a stout stick, he set out at a smart pace to track him. At last he found the Mole in the shelter of an old beech tree, trembling all over and so glad his friend had come.

And then it began to snow, thick and fast. Soon a white carpet covered the ground and all the paths and landmarks were lost.

Rat and Mole made their way with difficulty through the Wild Wood. Then Mole fell against something hard, that cut his leg. It was a door-scraper.

"Where there's a door-scraper, there must be a door!" said Ratty sensibly. Digging down, they found a doormat, and then a very solid front door, with a brass plate with "MR BADGER" on it, and an old fashioned bell pull. They tugged at it.

They could hear the bell clanging a long way down. Badger took some time to come to the door, wearing his old slippers and a thick dressing gown. He was rather grumpy at first at being disturbed, but welcomed them in to his firelit kitchen.

Great smoked hams and strings of fat brown onions hung from the rafters overhead. Badger gave them a good supper and they sat talking by the fire, about Toad and his craze for motor-cars. Something would have to be done about that, said Badger, when the winter was over.

In the morning they had porridge for breakfast, with two young hedgehogs who had got lost on their way to school. Badger showed them all the back door out of his lair, through a maze of tunnels that led to the edge of the wood.

Looking back, Mole and Rat saw the Wild Wood, black, threatening and grim, against the snow, and made their way quickly home, safe once more on the friendly River Bank.

4 Home, Sweet Home

It was almost Christmas. Mole and Rat had been out exploring the countryside. It was getting dark when they passed through a country village. Firelight and lamplight shone through the square windowpanes on the dark world outside. They could see children being put to bed, a man knocking out his pipe on the end of a smouldering log, and, in one window, the shadow of a bird-cage, with a sleepy bird ruffled up in its feathers. They felt cold and lonely, with tired legs, and far from home.

The two animals plodded on across the fields. Mole was following Rat, his nose to the ground. As he sniffed, he felt a tingle, like an electric shock. Animals can pick up signals from smells that humans never notice. This particular smell meant HOME to Mole.

He had forgotten his own little home in the excitement of his new life. But now it all came back to him, and he called to Ratty to stop.

But Ratty did not hear, and cried, "Oh, Come on, Mole, old chap! Don't hang behind! We've a long way to go."

Poor Mole stood alone in the road. He wanted so badly to follow the scent, but he could not desert his friend. He struggled on, slowly.

Presently Ratty noticed how quiet his friend was and how he was dragging his feet. Then he heard a sniff and a stifled sob, and it all came out.

"I know it's only a shabby little place," sobbed Mole, his paw to his eyes, "not like your cosy home, or Toad Hall. But it was my own, and I was fond of it."

Ratty patted his shoulder. "What a selfish pig I've been," he thought. And he turned Mole round and they set off back the way they had come, to pick up the scent.

At last, after several false starts, Mole crossed a ditch, scrambled through a hedge and dived down a tunnel. At the end of it was a little front door with "MOLE END" painted on it. Mole lit a lantern and they could see a neat forecourt, with a garden seat, some hanging baskets with ferns, and a plaster bust of Queen Victoria.

There was a skittle alley, too, with benches and tables, and a goldfish pond with a cockleshell border.

Inside everything was dusty and rather shabby. Mole started to sniff again, ashamed at having brought his friend there. But Ratty ran to and fro, lighting lamps and candles, exploring rooms and cupboards. He started to light a fire, while Mole got busy with a duster.

"What a capital little house this is!" Rat called out cheerfully. "So compact and well planned!"

"But I haven't got anything for supper!" Mole wailed.

"Rubbish!" said the Rat. "I spy a sardinetin opener, so there must be some sardines." They found some biscuits and were just about to open the sardines, when there was a scuffling noise in the forecourt, a lot of coughing, and a murmur of tiny voices.

"What's that?" asked Rat.

"It must be the fieldmice," answered Mole. "They go round at this time of year, carol-singing."

They opened the door, and there, in the light of a lantern, eight or ten little fieldmice stood in a semi-circle.

They wore red knitted scarves round their necks, and they jigged up and down to keep their feet warm.

"One, two, three!" cried the eldest one, and their shrill tiny voices rose in an old-time carol, about the animals in the stable at Bethlehem.

"Who were the first to cry Nowell?

Just as they finished, the sound of distant church bells came floating down

Mole and Rat welcomed the little carol-singers in, and Ratty sent one of them off with a basket, and some money, to buy food. The rest of the mice sat on a bench by the fire and warmed their chilblains, drinking mugs of hot punch. When the messenger returned, they had a splendid supper.

They finally clattered off home, with presents for their families. Mole and Rat tucked themselves into bed in handy sleeping bunks. Before he closed his eyes, Mole looked happily about his old room in the glow of the firelight.

Thanks to the kindness of his friend, Mole's pleasure in his old home had returned. "Everyone needs a place of their own to come back to," he thought drowsily, before he dropped off to sleep.

5 Mr Toad

One bright morning in early summer, BAdger kept his promise to visit Ratty and Mole.

"It's time we did something about Toad," he grunted. "He's a disgrace to the neighbourhood. What my old friend, his father, would have said about his doings, I don't like to think. This craze for motor-cars is getting him into trouble with the police."

"Yes, he's had several crashes," agreed Rat. "I hear he has ordered another new car this week."

They set off for Toad Hall. Sure enough, there at the front door stood a shiny, brand-new, bright red motor-car. Mr Toad, in goggles, cap, gaiters and a huge overcoat, came swaggering down the steps, putting on his big leather driving gloves.

"You're just in time for a jolly spin, you fellows!" he called out cheerfully.

"Oh, no, you don't!" said Badger gruffly, seizing him by the scruff of the neck and marching him back into the house. Mole and Rat took off his ridiculous motoring togs, and Badger gave him a good talking-to.

Toad refused to promise to give up driving, so they locked him in his bedroom to think it over.

But cunning Toad pretended to be ill, and while they were fetching the doctor, he skipped out of the window and bounced off to the village, laughing at his own cleverness and murmuring, "Poop! Poop!"

In the inn yard he saw a beautiful motor-car, whose owners were inside, having lunch. Toad could not resist trying it out. He turned the starting handle, hopped in behind the wheel, and drove off in a cloud of white dust.

As he sped along he chanted a little song, all about how clever he was.