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Authors: William Horwood
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His face hardened with new resolution and he added, “We shall find a way to reinstate the festive season along the River Bank. O hang it! Someone must do something and it seems that someone must be me!”
This much decided, the Mole closed his eyes and fell into sleep, though it was for a long time troubled and restless. But when dawn came the furrows on his brow began to smooth, and a slight smile came to his face, as if he were dreaming of joyous Christmases past, and all the possibilities of happy Yuletides yet to come.
V
Below Stairs
Just as the Mole was the last to go to sleep, so he was the first to awaken, and he did so with a jolt. It was as if a long-unheard but dearly remembered voice had spoken to him, saying, “Prepare in advance and you’ll enjoy your guests’ coming; prepare too late and you’ll be more glad to see their going?’
It was his sister’s voice he heard, she who had taught him this dictum, and so drilled it into him that he heard it now as if from her own mouth.
He rose stiffly from the depths of the Badger’s armchair and decided to complete his ablutions at home rather than disturb his sleeping friends. But he did not leave before he had quietly re-set and lit the fire, and hung a kettle over it, so that they might more easily enjoy a fresh pot of tea when they awoke.
Then, though he had to stand on a chair to reach the uppermost bolt on the Badger’s front door, he did so without making too much noise and was off with the rising sun.
When he crossed the Canal Bridge, and then walked back over the Iron Bridge, he saw that the River had calmed down a little, even though its colour was stained by mud and it seemed to have risen further still. He paused for a moment, thinking of all the many things he must do, and heard the unmistakable and ominous sound of the distant Weir.
“Things will get worse and more treacherous before they get better,” he said aloud, repeating a phrase that the Rat was fond of using when the River was in change.
But the bright winter sunshine cheered the Mole, as did his memory of the conversation at the Badger’s fireside the night before, and the ready affirmation by his friends that he was after all a part of their community. So much so that they had all been willing to change their habits and come to Mole End for a party on the morning of Christmas Day.
“Well, there is no point in waiting around here all day’ the Mole told himself, “there’s a lot of work to be done…
Back in the comforting surroundings of Mole End, Mole busied himself with plans for his party, filled with new hope. As always, he had a good supply of food already prepared and safely stored in his larder. It would be nothing more than a morning’s work to add the finishing touches, and that he would do tomorrow In the meantime, there were invitations to write, so he made a pot of tea and sat by his fire with a pen in his hand, enjoying this pleasant task.
He decided to deliver Toad’s invitation to Toad Hall that very day. At the same time, he would take along the chestnut and prune compote he had promised to Miss Bugle, and perhaps take the opportunity to ask her help and advice concerning Toad, which would surely be invaluable, if only she could be persuaded to give it.
Finally, when all was ready, the Mole put Toad’s invitation in his pocket and the gift for Miss Bugle in a bag and set forth once more for Toad Hall, feeling even more cheerful than before.
Not wishing to cause his friend Toad any unnecessary embarrassment, he took the liberty of knocking at the tradesman’s door he had used before. In this way, he also hoped that he would find Miss Bugle without having to engage with Mrs Fleshe or Toad.
He was extremely surprised, therefore, when the door was answered by none other than Toad himself, dressed in an apron and carrying a knife in one hand and a half-peeled potato in the other.
“Toad! Whatever are you doing?” said the Mole in blank
This much decided, the Mole closed his eyes and fell into sleep, though it was for a long time troubled and restless. But when dawn came the furrows on his brow began to smooth, and a slight smile came to his face, as if he were dreaming of joyous Christmases past, and all the possibilities of happy Yuletides yet to come.
V
Below Stairs
Just as the Mole was the last to go to sleep, so he was the first to awaken, and he did so with a jolt. It was as if a long-unheard but dearly remembered voice had spoken to him, saying, “Prepare in advance and you’ll enjoy your guests’ coming; prepare too late and you’ll be more glad to see their going?’
It was his sister’s voice he heard, she who had taught him this dictum, and so drilled it into him that he heard it now as if from her own mouth.
He rose stiffly from the depths of the Badger’s armchair and decided to complete his ablutions at home rather than disturb his sleeping friends. But he did not leave before he had quietly re-set and lit the fire, and hung a kettle over it, so that they might more easily enjoy a fresh pot of tea when they awoke.
Then, though he had to stand on a chair to reach the uppermost bolt on the Badger’s front door, he did so without making too much noise and was off with the rising sun.
When he crossed the Canal Bridge, and then walked back over the Iron Bridge, he saw that the River had calmed down a little, even though its colour was stained by mud and it seemed to have risen further still. He paused for a moment, thinking of all the many things he must do, and heard the unmistakable and ominous sound of the distant Weir.
“Things will get worse and more treacherous before they get better,” he said aloud, repeating a phrase that the Rat was fond of using when the River was in change.
But the bright winter sunshine cheered the Mole, as did his memory of the conversation at the Badger’s fireside the night before, and the ready affirmation by his friends that he was after all a part of their community. So much so that they had all been willing to change their habits and come to Mole End for a party on the morning of Christmas Day.
“Well, there is no point in waiting around here all day’ the Mole told himself, “there’s a lot of work to be done…
Back in the comforting surroundings of Mole End, Mole busied himself with plans for his party, filled with new hope. As always, he had a good supply of food already prepared and safely stored in his larder. It would be nothing more than a morning’s work to add the finishing touches, and that he would do tomorrow In the meantime, there were invitations to write, so he made a pot of tea and sat by his fire with a pen in his hand, enjoying this pleasant task.
He decided to deliver Toad’s invitation to Toad Hall that very day. At the same time, he would take along the chestnut and prune compote he had promised to Miss Bugle, and perhaps take the opportunity to ask her help and advice concerning Toad, which would surely be invaluable, if only she could be persuaded to give it.
Finally, when all was ready, the Mole put Toad’s invitation in his pocket and the gift for Miss Bugle in a bag and set forth once more for Toad Hall, feeling even more cheerful than before.
Not wishing to cause his friend Toad any unnecessary embarrassment, he took the liberty of knocking at the tradesman’s door he had used before. In this way, he also hoped that he would find Miss Bugle without having to engage with Mrs Fleshe or Toad.
He was extremely surprised, therefore, when the door was answered by none other than Toad himself, dressed in an apron and carrying a knife in one hand and a half-peeled potato in the other.
“Toad! Whatever are you doing?” said the Mole in blank
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