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Another favorite passage, from The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.

 

In the story the Mole has crept off to explore the Wild Wood, against the advice of his friend The Rat.

When Ratty discovers Mole is gone he deduces where he went and heads out to find him.

The Wind in the Willows

by Kenneth Grahame
(1859-1932)

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, 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.

`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. ‘

(Soon it begins to snow)

`SNOW is up,’ replied the Rat briefly; `or rather, DOWN. It’s snowing hard.’

`Well, 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.’

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.’ `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.

So once more they got on their feet, and struggled down into the dell. 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 kindly.

`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 you.’

`I must have tripped over a hidden branch or a stump,’ said the Mole miserably. `O, my! O, my!’

`It’s 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 them.

`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 shoveled 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.

`Come and see!’ said the delighted Rat, as he jigged on.

The Mole hobbled up to the spot and had a good look.

`Well,’ 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 impatiently.

`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?

`Now look here, you–you thick-headed beast,’ replied the Rat, really angry, `this must stop. Not another word, but  scrape and scratch and dig and hunt round 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

MR. BADGER.

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.

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