re so fond of it, Mole. Tell us all
about it, and how you came to make it what it is."

Then, while the Rat busied himself fetching plates, and knives and
forks, and mustard which he mixed in an egg-cup, the Mole, his bosom
still heaving with the stress of his recent emotion, related--somewhat
shyly at first, but with more freedom as he warmed to his subject--how
this was planned, and how that was thought out, and how this was got
through a windfall from an aunt, and that was a wonderful find and a
bargain, and this other thing was bought out of laborious savings and
a certain amount of "going without." His spirits finally quite
restored, he must needs go and caress his possessions, and take a lamp
and show off their points to his visitor and expatiate on them, quite
forgetful of the supper they both so much needed; Rat, who was
desperately hungry but strove to conceal it, nodding seriously,
examining with a puckered brow, and saying, "wonderful," and "most
remarkable," at intervals, when the chance for an observation was
given him.

At last the Rat succeeded in decoying him to the table, and had just
got seriously to work with the sardine-opener when sounds were heard
from the fore-court without--sounds like the scuffling of small feet
in the gravel and a confused murmur of tiny voices, while broken
sentences reached them--"Now, all in a line--hold the lantern up a
bit, Tommy--clear your throats first--no coughing after I say one,
two, three.--Where's young Bill?--Here, come on, do, we're all
a-waiting--"

"What's up?" inquired the Rat, pausing in his labours.

"I think it must be the field-mice," replied the Mole, with a touch of
pride in his manner. "They go round carol-singing regularly at this
time of the year. They're quite an institution in these parts. And
they never pass me over--they come to Mole End last of all; and I used
to give them hot drinks, and supper too sometimes, when I could afford
it. 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.

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when
they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a
horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a
semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their
fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for
warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each