Chapter 8 Dolce Domum Rat and Mole plodded along steadily, each thinking his own thoughts.
The Rat was walking a little way ahead.
As his habit was, shoulders slumped, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.
So he did not notice poor Mole when he stopped suddenly as if in shock.
We others, who have long lost the most subtle of our physical senses, have only the word smell to include the whole range of thrills that murmur in the nose of the animal night and day.
It was one of those mysterious calls that suddenly reached Mole in the darkness, making him tingle through and through.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his nose searching.
A moment later he had caught it again.
This time he knew what it was.
Holmes.
It must be quite close his old home that he had hurriedly left that day when he first found the river.
Now, with a rush of old memories, how clearly it stood up before him in the darkness.
Shabby, indeed, and small.
And yet it was 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, and was missing him and wanted him back.
"'Ratty!' he called, full of joyful excitement.
"'Hold on!
Come back!
I want you quick!
It's my home!
My old home!
Oh, slow down, 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—.
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 tomorrow, whatever it is you found, but it's late and the snow's coming again.
I'm not sure of the way and I want your nose Mole.
So come on quick.
There's a good fellow.
The rat pressed forward on his way without waiting for an answer.
Poor Mole.
"'stood alone in the road, his heart torn in a big sob, "'gathering low down inside him.
"'But his loyalty to his friend stood firm.
"'Never for a moment did he dream of abandoning him.
'Though he wanted to be home very badly.
'Mole set his face down the road and followed in the track of the rat.
'With some effort, he caught up to the unsuspecting rat 'who began chattering cheerfully about what they would do when they got back.
At last, when they had gone some considerable way further, 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 to rest.
The snow has held off so far and the best part of our journey is over.
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 said very quietly and sympathetically, What is it, old fellow?
Whatever can be the matter?
Poor Mole found it difficult to get any words out.
I know it's a shabby, dingy little place, he sobbed brokenly.
Not like your cozy quarters or Toad's beautiful hall or Badger's great house.
But it was my own little home when I went away and forgot all about it.
And I smelled it suddenly on the road when I called you and you wouldn't listen.
I thought my heart would break.
We might have just got it out.
One look at it, Ratty.
One look.
Oh, dear.
Oh, dear.
The rat stared straight in front of him, patting Mole gently on the shoulder.
I see it all now.
What a pig I have been.
Just a pig.
A plain pig.
He waited till Mole's sobs became gradually less dormy.
Then Rat rose from his seat.
Well, he said, we'd really better be getting on, old chap.
Rat turned around and set off up the road again, back over the way they had come.
Wherever are you going to, Ratty?
We're going to take you home, old fellow, replied the Rat pleasantly.
So you had better come along, or neither knows.
Still snuffling, Mole allowed himself to be dragged back along the road, while his uplifted nose, quivering slightly, felt the air.
Then a short quick run forward a fault, a check, a try, back then a slow steady, confident advance.
Suddenly, without giving much warning, he dived down a tunnel in the ground.
But the rat was on the alert and promptly followed him.
The passage was close and airless and the earthy smell was strong and it seemed like a long time to Rat before it ended and he could stand, erect and stretch 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, directly facing Mole's little door, with Mole End painted over the bell-pole at the side.
Mole pulled a lantern off a nail on the wall.
He hurried right through the door, lit a lamp in the hall, and took one glance around his old home.
He saw the dust lying thick on everything, saw the cheerless, deserted look of the long-neglected house and collapsed on a hall chair, his nose in his paws.
"'Oh, Ratty!' he cried dismally.
"'Why did I ever do it?'
Why did I bring you to this poor, cold little place on a night like this, when you might have been at Riverbank toasting your toes before a blazing fire?
The rat ignored this.
He was running here and there, lighting lamps and candles and sticking them up everywhere.
We'll make a jolly night of it.
Was this your own idea, those sleeping bunks on the wall?
Splendid.
The first thing we want is a good fire.
I'll fetch the wood and the coals, and you get the duster, Mole, and try to smarten things up a bit.
Hurry up, old chap.
The Mole, roused himself and dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the rat soon had a cheerful blaze roaring up the chimney.
He told Mole to come and warm himself when suddenly sounds were heard from outside like the scuffling of small feet in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices.
Now, all in a line, hold the lantern up a bit, Tommy.
Clear your throats.
No coughing after I say one, two, three.
Where's young Bill?
What's up? inquired the Rat.
It must be the field mice, replied the mole.
They go around carol-singing regularly at this time of year.
It will be like old times to hear them again.
Let's have a look at them, cried the rat, jumping up and running to the door.
Some eight or ten little field mice stood in a semicircle, red scarves around their throats, their forepaws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth.
With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering and sniffling.
One of the elder ones who carried a lantern said, "'Now then, one, two, three!'
And their shrill little voices rose, singing out one of the old-time carols.
Finally the voices ceased.
The singers were bashful but smiling, exchanging sidelong glances.
Very well sung, boys, cried the Rat heartily.
And now, come along in, all of you.
Warm yourselves by the fire and have something hot.
Yes, come along, Field Mice, cried the Mole eagerly.
This is quite like old times.
Shut the door after you.
Pull up to the fire.
Now, you just wait a minute while we... Oh, Ratty, he cried in despair.
"'Whatever are we doing, if nothing to give them?'
"'You'll leave all that to me,' said the masterful rat.
"'Here, you with the lantern, come over this way.
"'Now, tell me, are there any shops open this hour of night?'
"'Why, certainly, sir,' replied the field-mouse respectfully.
"'At this time of the year our shops stay open to all sorts of hours.'
Then look here, said the rat.
You go off at once, you and your lantern, and you get me.
Here much-muttered conversation followed.
Finally there was a clink of coins, passing from ball to ball.
The field-mouse was given a basket for his purchases, and off he hurried with his lantern.
The rest of the field-mice perched in a row on a bench, their small legs swinging, and gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the fire.
Finally, the latch clicked, the door opened and the field mouse reappeared, staggering under the weight of his basket.
Everybody was told to do something or fetch something.
In a very few minutes, supper was ready.
As they ate.
They talked of old times and the field mice.
Gave Mole and Rat the local gossip update and answered as well as they could the hundred questions they had to ask them.
They clattered off at last, very grateful and showering wishes of the season, with their jacket pockets stuffed with treats for the small brothers and sisters at home.
When the door had closed on, the last of them, Mole and Rat, added wood to the fire, drew their chairs in and discussed the events of the long day.
At last the Rat, with a great yawn, said, Mole, old chap, I'm ready to drop.
Is that your bunk over on that side?
Very well, then I'll take this.
He clambered into his bunk, rolled himself well up in the blanket, and was soon asleep.
The weary mole was also glad to turn in and soon had his head on the pillow in great joy and contentment.
Before he closed his eyes, he let them wander around his old room, mellow in the glow of firelight that played or rested on familiar and friendly things that had long been a part of him.
He saw clearly how much it all meant to him.
He did not want to abandon his new life, to turn his back on the sun and air and all they offered to him.
But it was good to think he had returned to this place that was all his own.
These things that were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same simple will.
