range of delicatethrills 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 fullest flood.

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" target="_blank" title="ad.仓促地，忙乱地">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 wanted him.

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" target="_blank" title="ad.高兴地，愉快地">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.
`Mole, we 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" target="_blank" title="ad.高兴地，愉快地">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.'

The 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!'
Recollection 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 in alarm.
`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 again.'