" said the Mole. "But why should Otter choose to watch
there?"

"Well, it seems that it was there he gave Portly his first
swimming-lesson," continued the Rat. "From that shallow, gravelly spit
near the bank. And it was there he used to teach him fishing, and
there young Portly caught his first fish, of which he was so very
proud. The child loved the spot, and Otter thinks that if he came
wandering back from wherever he is--if he _is_ anywhere by this time,
poor little chap--he might make for the ford he was so fond of; or if
he came across it he'd remember it well, and stop there and play,
perhaps. So Otter goes there every night and watches--on the chance,
you know, just on the chance!"

They were silent for a time, both thinking of the same thing--the
lonely, heart-sore animal, crouched by the ford, watching and waiting,
the long night through--on the chance.

"Well, well," said the Rat presently, "I suppose we ought to be
thinking about turning in." But he never offered to move.

"Rat," said the Mole, "I simply can't go and turn in, and go to sleep,
and _do_ nothing, even though there doesn't seem to be anything to be
done. We'll get the boat out, and paddle upstream. The moon will be up
in an hour or so, and then we will search as well as we can--anyhow,
it will be better than going to bed and doing _nothing_."

"Just what I was thinking myself," said the Rat. "It's not the sort of
night for bed anyhow; and daybreak is not so very far off, and then we
may pick up some news of him from early risers as we go along."

They got the boat out, and the Rat took the sculls, paddling with
caution. Out in mid-stream, there was a clear, narrow track that
faintly reflected the sky; but wherever shadows fell on the water from
bank, bush, or tree, they were as solid to all appearance as the banks
themselves, and the Mole had to steer with judgment accordingly. Dark
and deserted as it was, the night was full of small noises, song and
chatter and rustling, telling of the busy little population who were
up and about, plying their trades and vocations through the night till
sunshine should fall on them at last and send them off to their
well-earned repose. The water's own noises, too, were more apparent
than by day, its gurglings and "cloops" more unexpected and near at
hand; and constantly they started at what seemed a sudden clear call
from an actual articulate voice.

The line of the horizon was clear and hard against the