Chapter 14 Wayfarers All The water rat was restless, and he did not know exactly why.
Leaving the waterside, he wandered, crossed a field or two, already looking dusty and dry, and thrust into the great field of wheat.
Here he had many small friends.
Today, however, the field mice and harvest mice seemed busy.
Many were digging and tunneling.
Others examined plans and drawings of small homes.
Some were already elbow deep in packing their belongings.
Here's old Ratty, they cried as soon as they saw him.
What sort of games are you up to, said the water rat.
You know it isn't time to be thinking of winter plans yet, by a long way.
Oh yes, we know that. explained a field mouse rather bashfully.
But we really must get all the furniture and baggage and stores moved out of this before those horrid machines begin clicking around the fields.
Oh, bother, said the rat.
It's a splendid day.
Come for a row or a stroll along the hedges.
Well, I think not.
Thank you, replied the field mouse hurriedly.
In an hour or two we might be able to join you.
You won't be free until Christmas with all this work.
I can see that, retorted the rat grumpily as he picked his way out of the field.
He returned, somewhat sadly, to his river again, his faithful steady, old river which never packed up or went into winter hiding.
By the bank he spied a swallow sitting.
Soon it was joined by another and then a third.
The birds, fidgeting restlessly, talked together seriously and low.
"'You're not getting ready for winter, too,' said the rat, strolling up to them.
"'What's the hurry?
I call it simply ridiculous.'
Oh, we're not leaving yet, replied the first swallow.
We're only making plans.
What route we're taking this year, and where we'll stop, and so on.
That's half the fun.
Fun, said the rat.
Now, that's just what I don't understand.
Hmph, no.
You don't understand, naturally, said the second swallow.
We feel it stirring within us as, one by one, the scents and sounds and names of long-forgotten places come gradually back and beckon to us.
Couldn't you stop for just this year, suggested the rat, worried about a lonely winter ahead?
You have no idea what good times we have here while you're far away.
I tried stopping one year, said the third swallow.
For a few weeks it was all well enough, but afterward oh, the weary length of the nights, the shivering, sunless days.
No, it was no good.
My courage broke down, and one cold stormy night I took wing and moved southward.
Why do you ever come back at all?
Rat demanded of the swallows jealously.
What do you find to attract you in this drab little country?
Do you really think, said the first swallow, that the north doesn't call to us too when it's due season?
In time, we shall be homesick once more for the quiet water lilies swaying on the surface of the stream.
They fell a-twittering among themselves once more.
Restlessly the rat wandered off.
He climbed the slope that gently rose from the bank of the river.
On this side, he looked into the distance and dreamed of traveling himself.
What seas lay beyond?
What sun-bathed coasts and quiet harbors?
Footsteps fell on his ear and a tired figure came into view.
He saw that it was another rat and a very dusty one.
The wayfarer saluted with a friendly wave and sat down by his side.
He was lean and somewhat bowed at the shoulders.
His paws were thin and long, his eyes much wrinkled at the corners.
When he had rested a while, the stranger sighed, sniffed the air, and looked about him.
That was Clover, the warm whiff on the breeze, he remarked.
And those are cows, we hear eating the grass behind us and blowing softly between mouthfuls.
Everything seems asleep, and yet going on all the time.
It is a good life that you lead, friend.
Yes, it is the life, the only life to live, responded the water rat dreamily.
I did not say that exactly, replied the stranger cautiously.
I've just tried it, six months of it.
Here I am, leaving it, following the call back to the old life, the life which will not let me go.
You are not one of us, said the water rat, nor a farmer.
You are not even from this country.
Right, replied the stranger.
I'm a seafaring rat, I am.
The city of my birth is no more my home than any port between there and the London River.
I know them all, and they know me.
Set me down on any shore, and I am home again.
I suppose you go on great voyages, said the water rat with growing interest.
Months and months out of sight, of land in your mind communing with the mighty ocean and all that sort of thing.
By no means, said the sea rat.
It's the jolly times on shore that appeal to me.
Oh, those southern seaports, the smell of them, the lights at night, the glamour.
Well, Perhaps you have chosen the better way, said the water rat, but rather doubtfully.
Tell me something of your travels.
The sea rat told the story of his latest voyage, conducting the water rat from port to port with his tail, landing him at Lisbon and Bordeaux, introducing him to the pleasant harbors of Cornwall and Devon and up the channels to London.
Quivering with excitement, the water rat was captivated.
The seafarer's eyes lit with brightness as he leaned toward Rat and kept him fascinated, powerless.
A stranger's words held a powerful spell.
As Rat listened, he became hypnotized by the deep voice and the mysterious adventures it described before.
The quiet world he knew and loved faded far away and ceased to be.
And as the wonderful talk flowed on, Rat fell more and more under the power of this spell.
But soon the adventurer rose to his feet, still speaking, still holding the water rat fast with his sea-gray eyes.
And now he said softly, I take to the road again till at last I reach the little grey sea-town I know so well.
And you will come too, young brother, for the days pass and never return, and the South still waits for you.
Take the adventure, heed the call, before the moment passes.
The voice died away and ceased.
The water rat rose without thinking.
He returned home, gathered together a few small items and put them carefully in a bag, moving about the room like a sleepwalker.
He swung the bag over his shoulder and stepped across the threshold just as Mole appeared at the door.
Why, where are you off to, Ratty? asked the Mole in great surprise, grabbing him by the arm.
Going south with the rest of them. murmured the rat in a dreamy voice, never looking at him.
Seaward first, and then on the ship, and to the shores that are calling me.
He pressed forward, but the mole placed himself in front of him.
Looking into his eyes, he saw that they were glazed and set.
It was like seeing the eyes of some other animal.
Grappling with him strongly, mole dragged rat inside, threw him down, and held him.
The rat struggled desperately for a few moments and then his strength seemed to leave him and he lay still and exhausted, with closed eyes, trembling.
The mole placed him in a chair where he sat collapsed, his whole body shivering.
Gradually the rat sank into a troubled doze.
The mole left him for a time and busied himself with household matters.
It was getting dark when he returned to the parlor and found the rat where he had left him wide awake but silent and dejected.
Mole took one glance at rat's eyes and was happy to find them clear and dark and brown as before.
Poor rat.
He did his best to explain things, but how could he put into cold words what had mostly been suggestion?
Even to himself now the spell was broken and the glamour was gone.
He found it difficult to account for what had seemed some hours ago the only thing.
To the mole this much was plain.
The fit or attack had passed away.
Casually, then he turned his talk to the harvest that was being gathered in and the large moon rising over bare acres.
He talked of reddening apples, of the browning nuts, of Jams and preserves all the things Rat loved best.
Mole soon brought Rat out of the spell and back to the joys of their snug home life.
The Rat began to sit up and to join in.
His dull eyes brightened and he lost some of his listless air.
It was a joy to the Mole to know that the cure had at least begun.
