s help."

"Oh, you're welcome!" Mrs. Wren assured him. "I shouldn't want a
youngster of mine walking about the garden alone. I'm glad to do what I
can. And meanwhile you had better stay close to that hole, for there's
no need of your running any risks. If I can't find young Moses Mole,
then nobody can."

Grandfather Mole said she was very kind and that he would take her
advice. So he stationed himself beside the hole through which he had
lately appeared and waited there while Rusty Wren's wife looked for his
grandson.

She was a quick, spry little body--was Mrs. Wren. It wasn't long before
she surprised the object of her search in the act of eating a fat grub
beside a pumpkin.

"Here he is!" Mrs. Wren called to Grandfather Mole. "I've found him. Do
you want to come and get him, or shall I bring him to you?"

[Illustration: Billy Woodchuck Calls on Grandfather Mole. (_Page 106_)]

"You'd better bring him," Grandfather Mole answered. And anybody
could see that he was vastly relieved.

A little later Mrs. Wren called to him again.

"What shall I do?" she asked. "He won't mind me. And he's too heavy for
me to carry."

"That's Moses, without a doubt!" Grandfather Mole declared. "Yes!
If he won't mind, it's certainly my grandson Moses. He's the
littlest of the family; and his mother has always spoiled him....
I suppose"--Grandfather Mole added--"I suppose I'll have to go and
get him."

"Wait a moment!" Mrs. Wren suddenly sang out. "There's some mistake.
This little fellow says his name isn't Moses!"

Well, Grandfather Mole's mouth fell open, he was so surprised. "Then
what's his name?" he demanded.

"He says it's Mr. Shrew. And he seems very angry over something or
other," Mrs. Wren explained.

"Tell me"--Grandfather Mole besought her--"has he a neck?"

Mrs. Wren glanced at the small person whose breakfast she had
interrupted.

"Yes, he has one," she reported.

"Then he's no relation of mine," Grandfather Mole said. "Or at least,
he's no more than a distant cousin. And I don't even know him." He was
relieved to learn that his grandson Moses Mole was not wandering about
the garden, after all. "Maybe you never stopped to think that none of
our family have necks--so far as you can notice."

And now Mrs. Wren looked at Grandfather Mole. And she saw that his head
was set right on his shoulders.

"I was mistaken," she faltered. "I'm sorry if I upset you about your
grandson."

"It doesn't matter now," Gran