rom his knee, his head fell
back, his mouth opened, and he wandered by the verdant banks of
dream-rivers. Then a coal slipped, the fire crackled and sent up a
spurt of flame, and he woke with a start. Remembering what he had been
engaged upon, he reached down to the floor for his verses, pored over
them for a minute, and then looked round for the Mole to ask him if he
knew a good rhyme for something or other.

But the Mole was not there.

He listened for a time. The house seemed very quiet.

Then he called "Moly!" several times, and, receiving no answer, got up
and went out into the hall.

The Mole's cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His goloshes,
which always lay by the umbrella-stand, were also gone.

The Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy surface of
the ground outside, hoping to find the Mole's tracks. There they were,
sure enough. The goloshes were new, just bought for the winter, and
the pimples on their soles were fresh and sharp. He could see the
imprints of them in the mud, running along straight and purposeful,
leading direct to the Wild Wood.

The Rat looked very grave, and stood in deep thought for a minute or
two. Then he re-entered the house, strapped a belt round his waist,
shoved a brace of pistols into it, took up a stout cudgel that stood
in a corner of the hall, and set off for the Wild Wood at a smart
pace.

It was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first fringe
of trees and plunged without hesitation into the wood, looking
anxiously on either side for any sign of his friend. Here and there
wicked little faces popped out of holes, but vanished immediately at
sight of the valorous animal, his pistols, and the great ugly cudgel
in his grasp; and the whistling and pattering, which he had heard
quite plainly on his first entry, died away and ceased, and all was
very still. He made his way manfully through the length of the wood,
to its furthest edge; then, forsaking all paths, he set himself to
traverse it, laboriously working over the whole ground, and all the
time calling out cheerfully, "Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are you? It's
me--it's old Rat!"

He had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or more, when at
last to his joy he heard a little answering cry. Guiding himself by
the sound, he made his way through the gathering darkness to the foot
of an old beech tree, with a hole in it, and from out of the hole came
a feeble voice, saying "Ratty! Is t