masterful Rat. 'Here, you with the
lantern! Come over this way. I want to talk to you. Now, tell me, are
there any shops open at this hour of the night?'

'Why, certainly, sir,' replied the field-mouse respectfully. 'At this
time of the year our shops keep open to all sorts of hours.'

'Then look here!' said the Rat. 'You go off at once, you and your
lantern, and you get me----'

Here much muttered conversation ensued, and the Mole only heard bits
of it, such as--'Fresh, mind!--no, a pound of that will do--see you get
Buggins's, for I won't have any other--no, only the best--if you can't
get it there, try somewhere else--yes, of course, home-made, no tinned
stuff--well then, do the best you can!' Finally, there was a chink of
coin passing from paw to paw, the field-mouse was provided with an ample
basket for his purchases, and off he hurried, he and his lantern.

The rest of the field-mice, perched in a row on the settle, their small
legs swinging, gave themselves up to enjoyment of the fire, and toasted
their chilblains till they tingled; while the Mole, failing to draw them
into easy conversation, plunged into family history and made each of
them recite the names of his numerous brothers, who were too young,
it appeared, to be allowed to go out a-carolling this year, but looked
forward very shortly to winning the parental consent.

The Rat, meanwhile, was busy examining the label on one of the
beer-bottles. 'I perceive this to be Old Burton,' he remarked
approvingly. 'SENSIBLE Mole! The very thing! Now we shall be able to
mull some ale! Get the things ready, Mole, while I draw the corks.'

It did not take long to prepare the brew and thrust the tin heater well
into the red heart of the fire; and soon every field-mouse was sipping
and coughing and choking (for a little mulled ale goes a long way) and
wiping his eyes and laughing and forgetting he had ever been cold in all
his life.

'They act plays too, these fellows,' the Mole explained to the Rat.
'Make them up all by themselves, and act them afterwards. And very
well they do it, too! They gave us a capital one last year, about a
field-mouse who was captured at sea by a Barbary corsair, and made to
row in a galley; and when he escaped and got home again, his lady-love
had gone into a convent. Here, YOU! You were in it, I remember. Get up
and recite a bit.'

The field-mouse addressed got up on his legs, giggled shyly, looked
round the room, and remained abso