d out, he sought
the shelter of a hollow tree, where with branches and dead leaves he
made himself as comfortable a bed as he could, and slept soundly till
the morning.

IX

WAYFARERS ALL

The Water Rat was restless, and he did not exactly know why. To all
appearance the summer's pomp was still at fullest height, and although
in the tilled acres green had given way to gold, though rowans were
reddening, and the woods were dashed here and there with a tawny
fierceness, yet light and warmth and colour were still present in
undiminished measure, clean of any chilly premonitions of the passing
year. But the constant chorus of the orchards and hedges had shrunk to
a casual evensong from a few yet unwearied performers; the robin was
beginning to assert himself once more; and there was a feeling in the
air of change and departure. The cuckoo, of course, had long been
silent; but many another feathered friend, for months a part of the
familiar landscape and its small society, was missing too, and it
seemed that the ranks thinned steadily day by day. Rat, ever observant
of all winged movement, saw that it was taking daily a southing
tendency; and even as he lay in bed at night he thought he could make
out, passing in the darkness overhead, the beat and quiver of
impatient pinions, obedient to the peremptory call.

Nature's Grand Hotel has its Season, like the others. As the guests one
by one pack, pay, and depart, and the seats at the _table-d'hote_ shrink
pitifully at each succeeding meal; as suites of rooms are closed, carpets
taken up, and waiters sent away; those boarders who are staying on, _en
pension_, until the next year's full re-opening, cannot help being
somewhat affected by all these flittings and farewells, this eager
discussion of plans, routes, and fresh quarters, this daily shrinkage in
the stream of comradeship. One gets unsettled, depressed, and inclined to
be querulous. Why this craving for change? Why not stay on quietly here,
like us, and be jolly? You don't know this hotel out of the season, and
what fun we have among ourselves, we fellows who remain and see the whole
interesting year out. All very true, no doubt, the others always reply;
we quite envy you--and some other year perhaps--but just now we have
engagements--and there's the bus at the door--our time is up! So they
depart, with a smile and a nod, and we miss them, and feel resentful. The
Rat was a self-sufficing sort of animal, rooted