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The Wind in the Willows-Part10_Kenneth Grahame(1859-1932)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Still snuffling, pleading, and reluctant, Mole suffered himself

to be dragged back along the road by his imperiouscompanion, who



by a flow of cheerful talk and anecdote endeavoured to beguile

his spirits back and make the weary way seem shorter. When at



last it seemed to the Rat that they must be nearing that part of

the road where the Mole had been `held up,' he said, `Now, no



more talking. Business! Use your nose, and give your mind to

it.'



They moved on in silence for some little way, when suddenly the

Rat was conscious, through his arm that was linked in Mole's, of



a faint sort of electric thrill that was passing down that

animal's body. Instantly he disengaged himself, fell back a



pace, and waited, all attention.

The signals were coming through!



Mole stood a moment rigid, while his uplifted nose, quivering

slightly, felt the air.



Then a short, quick run forward--a fault--a check--a try back;

and then a slow, steady, confident advance.



The Rat, much excited, kept close to his heels as the Mole, with

something of the air of a sleep-walker, crossed a dry ditch,



scrambled through a hedge, and nosed his way over a field open

and trackless and bare in the faint starlight.



Suddenly, without giving warning, he dived; but the Rat was on

the alert, and promptly followed him down the tunnel to which his



unerring nose had faithfully led him.

It was close and airless, and the earthy smell was strong, and it



seemed a long time to Rat ere the passage ended and he could

stand erect and stretch and shake himself. The Mole struck a



match, and by its light the Rat saw that they were standing in an

open space, neatly swept and sanded underfoot, and directly



facing them was Mole's little front door, with `Mole End'

painted, in Gothic lettering, over the bell-pull at the side.



Mole reached down a lantern from a nail on the wail and lit it,

and the Rat, looking round him, saw that they were in a sort of



fore-court. A garden-seat stood on one side of the door, and on

the other a roller; for the Mole, who was a tidy animal when at



home, could not stand having his ground kicked up by other

animals into little runs that ended in earth-heaps. On the walls



hung wire baskets with ferns in them, alternating with brackets

carrying plaster statuary--Garibaldi, and the infant Samuel, and



Queen Victoria, and other heroes of modern Italy. Down on one

side of the forecourt ran a skittle-alley, with benches along it



and little wooden tables marked with rings that hinted at beer-

mugs. In the middle was a small round pond containing gold-fish



and surrounded by a cockle-shell border. Out of the centre of

the pond rose a fanciful erection clothed in more cockle-shells



and topped by a large silvered glass ball that reflected

everything all wrong and had a very pleasing effect.



Mole's face-beamed at the sight of all these objects so dear to

him, and he hurried Rat through the door, lit a lamp in the



hall, and took one glance round his old home. He saw the dust

lying thick on everything, saw the cheerless, deserted look of



the long-neglected house, and its narrow, meagre dimensions, its

worn and shabby contents--and collapsed again on a hall-chair,



his nose to his paws. `O Ratty!' he cried dismally, `why ever

did I do it? Why did I bring you to this poor, cold little



place, on a night like this, when you might have been at River

Bank by this time, toasting your toes before a blazing fire, with



all your own nice things about you!'

The Rat paid no heed to his doleful self-reproaches. He was



running here and there, opening doors, inspecting rooms and

cupboards, and lighting lamps and candles and sticking them, up



everywhere. `What a capital little house this is!' he called out

cheerily. `So compact! So well planned! Everything here and



everything in its place! We'll make a jolly night of it. The

first thing we want is a good fire; I'll see to that--I always



know where to find things. So this is the parlour? Splendid!

Your own idea, those little sleeping-bunks in the wall? Capital!



Now, I'll fetch the wood and the coals, and you get a

duster, Mole--you'll find one in the drawer of the kitchen



table--and try and smarten things up a bit. Bustle about, old

chap!'



Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself

and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the



Rat, running to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful




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