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.

V