'So compact! So well
planned! Everything here and everything in its place! We'll make a jolly
night of it. The first thing we want is a good fire; I'll see to that--I
always know where to find things. So this is the parlour? Splendid! Your
own idea, those little sleeping-bunks in the wall? Capital! Now, I'll
fetch the wood and the coals, and you get a duster, Mole--you'll find
one in the drawer of the kitchen table--and try and smarten things up a
bit. Bustle about, old chap!'

Encouraged by his inspiriting companion, the Mole roused himself and
dusted and polished with energy and heartiness, while the Rat, running
to and fro with armfuls of fuel, soon had a cheerful blaze roaring
up the chimney. He hailed the Mole to come and warm himself; but Mole
promptly had another fit of the blues, dropping down on a couch in dark
despair and burying his face in his duster. 'Rat,' he moaned, 'how about
your supper, you poor, cold, hungry, weary animal? I've nothing to give
you--nothing--not a crumb!'

'What a fellow you are for giving in!' said the Rat reproachfully.
'Why, only just now I saw a sardine-opener on the kitchen dresser, quite
distinctly; and everybody knows that means there are sardines about
somewhere in the neighbourhood. Rouse yourself! pull yourself together,
and come with me and forage.'

They went and foraged accordingly, hunting through every cupboard and
turning out every drawer. The result was not so very depressing after
all, though of course it might have been better; a tin of sardines--a
box of captain's biscuits, nearly full--and a German sausage encased in
silver paper.

'There's a banquet for you!' observed the Rat, as he arranged the table.
'I know some animals who would give their ears to be sitting down to
supper with us to-night!'

'No bread!' groaned the Mole dolorously; 'no butter, no----'

'No pate de foie gras, no champagne!' continued the Rat, grinning. 'And
that reminds me--what's that little door at the end of the passage? Your
cellar, of course! Every luxury in this house! Just you wait a minute.'

He made for the cellar-door, and presently reappeared, somewhat
dusty, with a bottle of beer in each paw and another under each arm,
'Self-indulgent beggar you seem to be, Mole,' he observed. 'Deny
yourself nothing. This is really the jolliest little place I ever was
in. Now, wherever did you pick up those prints? Make the place look so
home-like, they do. No wonder you're so fond of it,