led 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 blaze roaring up
the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole
promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in
dark despair and burying his face in his duster. "Rat," he moaned,
"how about your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've
nothing to give you--nothing--not a crumb!"

"What a fellow you are for giving in!" said the Rat reproachfully.
"Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser,
quite distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines
about somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself
together, and come with me and forage."

They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and
turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after
all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines--a
box of captain's biscuits, nearly full--and a German sausage encased
in silver paper.

"There's a banquet for you!" observed the Rat, as he arranged the
table. "I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting
down to supper with us to-night!"

"No bread!" groaned the Mole dolorously; "no butter, no--"

"No _pate de foie gras_, no champagne!" continued the Rat, grinning.
"And that reminds me--what's that little door at the end of the
passage? Your cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you
wait a minute."

He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat dusty,
with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm,
"Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole," he observed. "Deny
yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was
in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so
home-like, they do. No wonder you'