The Midnight Garden: Rainy Day Story

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There was a rustle behind them, proceeding from a hedge wherein
last year's leaves still clung thick, and a stripy head, with
high shoulders behind it, peered forth on them.

`Come on, old Badger!' shouted the Rat.

The Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted, `H'm!
Company,' and turned his back and disappeared from view.

`That's JUST the sort of fellow he is!' observed the
disappointed Rat. `Simply hates Society! Now we shan't see any
more of him to-day. Well, tell us, WHO'S out on the river?'

`Toad's out, for one,' replied the Otter. `In his brand-new
wager-boat; new togs, new everything!'

The two animals looked at each other and laughed.

`Once, it was nothing but sailing,' said the Rat, `Then he tired
of that and took to punting. Nothing would please him but to
punt all day and every day, and a nice mess he made of it. Last
year it was house-boating, and we all had to go and stay with him
in his house-boat, and pretend we liked it. He was going to
spend the rest of his life in a house-boat. It's all the same,
whatever he takes up; he gets tired of it, and starts on
something fresh.'

`Such a good fellow, too,' remarked the Otter reflectively: `But
no stability--especially in a boat!'

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From where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream
across the island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat
flashed into view, the rower--a short, stout figure--splashing
badly and rolling a good deal, but working his hardest. The Rat
stood up and hailed him, but Toad--for it was he--shook his head
and settled sternly to his work.

`He'll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,'
said the Rat, sitting down again.

`Of course he will,' chuckled the Otter. `Did I ever tell you
that good story about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this
way. Toad. . . .'

An errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in
the intoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies
seeing life. A swirl of water and a `cloop!' and the May-fly was
visible no more.

Neither was the Otter.

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The Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the
turf whereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter to
be seen, as far as the distant horizon. But again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the river.

The Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that animal-
etiquette forbade any sort of comment on the sudden disappearance
of one's friends at any moment, for any reason or no reason
whatever.

`Well, well,' said the Rat, `I suppose we ought to be moving. I
wonder which of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?' He did
not speak as if he was frightfully eager for the treat.

`O, please let me,' said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let
him.

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Packing the basket was not quite such pleasant work as unpacking'
the basket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying
everything, and although just when he had got the basket
packed and strapped up tightly he saw a plate staring up at him
from the grass, and when the job had been done again the Rat
pointed out a fork which anybody ought to have seen, and last of
all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had been sitting on
without knowing it--still, somehow, the thing got finished at
last, without much loss of temper.

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Just one of many peaches growing on our peach tree in the back garden.

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The afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently
homewards in a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to
himself, and not paying much attention to Mole. But the Mole was
very full of lunch, and self-satisfaction, and pride, and already
quite at home in a boat (so he thought) and was getting a bit
restless besides: and presently he said, `Ratty! Please, _I_
want to row, now!'

The Rat shook his head with a smile. `Not yet, my young friend,'
he said--'wait till you've had a few lessons. It's not so easy
as it looks.'

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The Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel
more and more jealous of Rat, sculling so strongly and so easily
along, and his pride began to whisper that he could do it every
bit as well. He jumped up and seized the sculls, so
suddenly, that the Rat, who was gazing out over the water and
saying more poetry-things to himself, was taken by surprise and
fell backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for the
second time, while the triumphant Mole took his place and grabbed
the sculls with entire confidence.

`Stop it, you SILLY ass!' cried the Rat, from the bottom of
the boat. `You can't do it! You'll have us over!'

The Mole flung his sculls back with a flourish, and made a great
dig at the water. He missed the surface altogether, his legs
flew up above his head, and he found himself lying on the top of
the prostrate Rat. Greatly alarmed, he made a grab at the side
of the boat, and the next moment--Sploosh!

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Over went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the river.

O my, how cold the water was, and O, how VERY wet it felt.
How it sang in his ears as he went down, down, down! How bright
and welcome the sun looked as he rose to the surface coughing and
spluttering! How black was his despair when he felt himself
sinking again! Then a firm paw gripped him by the back of
his neck. It was the Rat, and he was evidently laughing--the
Mole could FEEL him laughing, right down his arm and through
his paw, and so into his--the Mole's--neck.

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The Rat got hold of a scull and shoved it under the Mole's arm;
then he did the same by the other side of him and, swimming
behind, propelled the helpless animal to shore, hauled him out,
and set him down on the bank, a squashy, pulpy lump of misery.

When the Rat had rubbed him down a bit, and wrung some of the wet
out of him, he said, `Now, then, old fellow! Trot up and down
the towing-path as hard as you can, till you're warm and dry
again, while I dive for the luncheon-basket.'

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Another frog arrives.

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So the dismal Mole, wet without and ashamed within, trotted about
till he was fairly dry, while the Rat plunged into the water
again, recovered the boat, righted her and made her fast, fetched
his floating property to shore by degrees, and finally dived
successfully for the luncheon-basket and struggled to land with
it.

When all was ready for a start once more, the Mole, limp and
dejected, took his seat in the stern of the boat; and as they set
off, he said in a low voice, broken with emotion, `Ratty, my
generous friend! I am very sorry indeed for my foolish and
ungrateful conduct. My heart quite fails me when I think how I
might have lost that beautiful luncheon-basket. Indeed, I have
been a complete ass, and I know it. Will you overlook it this
once and forgive me, and let things go on as before?'

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`That's all right, bless you!' responded the Rat cheerily.

`What's a little wet to a Water Rat? I'm more in the water than
out of it most days. Don't you think any more about it; and,
look here! I really think you had better come and stop with me
for a little time. It's very plain and rough, you know--not like
Toad's house at all--but you haven't seen that yet; still, I can
make you comfortable. And I'll teach you to row, and to swim,
and you'll soon be as handy on the water as any of us.'

The Mole was so touched by his kind manner of speaking that he
could find no voice to answer him; and he had to brush away a
tear or two with the back of his paw. But the Rat kindly looked
in another direction, and presently the Mole's spirits revived
again, and he was even able to give some straight back-talk
to a couple of moorhens who were sniggering to each other
about his bedraggled appearance.