s disposed in majestic ease on
the sward; saw, last of all, nestling between his very hooves,
sleeping soundly in entire peace and contentment, the little, round,
podgy, childish form of the baby otter. All this he saw, for one
moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still,
as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.

"Rat!" he found breath to whisper, shaking. "Are you afraid?"

"Afraid?" murmured the Rat, his eyes shining with unutterable love.
"Afraid! Of _Him_? O, never, never! And yet--and yet--O, Mole, I am
afraid!"

Then the two animals, crouching to the earth, bowed their heads and
did worship.

Sudden and magnificent, the sun's broad golden disc showed itself over
the horizon facing them; and the first rays, shooting across the level
water-meadows, took the animals full in the eyes and dazzled them.
When they were able to look once more, the Vision had vanished, and
the air was full of the carol of birds that hailed the dawn.

As they stared blankly, in dumb misery deepening as they slowly realised
all they had seen and all they had lost, a capricious little breeze,
dancing up from the surface of the water, tossed the aspens, shook the
dewy roses, and blew lightly and caressingly in their faces; and with
its soft touch came instant oblivion. For this is the last best gift
that the kindly demi-god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has
revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the
awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and
pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives
of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should
be happy and light-hearted as before.

Mole rubbed his eyes and stared at Rat, who was looking about him in a
puzzled sort of way. "I beg your pardon; what did you say, Rat?" he
asked.

"I think I was only remarking," said Rat slowly, "that this was the
right sort of place, and that here, if anywhere, we should find him.
And look! Why, there he is, the little fellow!" And with a cry of
delight he ran towards the slumbering Portly.

But Mole stood still a moment, held in thought. As one wakened
suddenly from a beautiful dream, who struggles to recall it, and can
recapture nothing but a dim sense of the beauty of it, the beauty!
Till that, too, fades away in its turn, and the dreamer bitterly
accepts the hard, cold waking and all its penalties; so Mole