allowed the Mole-mother, "but they've not asked
us either. You see the Court Hedgehog is to be there, and so it is
very select."

"Select! I'll make them select!" growled the proprietor of the Inn
with a scowl. "Who are they I should like to know? They may have
Gypsies upon them at any moment!"

"Oh, I hope not!" cried the Mole-mother.

"There's a Tinker's boy in the town," said the Innkeeper, darkly, "and
he's always looking out for Hedgehogs--I shouldn't be surprised if he
heard where the family live."

"Good-night!" said the Mole-mother, nervously, and hurried on with her
children.

"Some mischief will be done if we don't watch," she said to Emmie,
who was a mole of unusual intelligence. "I'll tell your brother to
keep his eye on the Rat Inn."

After about half an hour's walking, they arrived at home; for their
house was in a secluded position in the most unfrequented part of the
forest.

Though very simple, it was clean and well kept, and furnished with a
large cooking stove, a four-post bedstead, and a few wooden benches.

In the one arm-chair sat the Mole-father, reading the newspaper; while
his sister, Aunt Betta, with a cap with long streaming ribbons on her
head, was busily stirring something in a saucepan.

As the Mole-mother and her family, descended the stone stairway that
led from the upper air, a delicious smell of cooking greeted them. Two
large tallow candles were burning brightly, and altogether the house
presented a very lively appearance.

"Here you are at last," cried the Mole-father. "Supper is just ready,
and I have sent Karl to the Inn for some lager-beer."

"I wonder if he will hear anything," said the Mole-mother taking off
her galoshes; and then she related all the news of the evening.

"If there isn't some mischief brewing, may I be made into waistcoats!"
exclaimed the Mole-father, throwing down his newspaper.

It was his favourite expression when much excited, and never failed
to give the Mole-mother a shiver all down her back. She called it such
very strong language.

At this moment Karl came clattering down the steps.

"Oh, father! mother! I _have_ heard something!" he shouted. "The
Rat-father has started off to the Tinker's to tell the boy where the
Hedgehogs are living!"

The Mole-mother sank down on a bench gasping.

"He's done it then! Oh, the poor Hedgehogs!" she cried wringing her
hands, "They'll be cooked in clay before they can turn round."

"Don't be in such