which the Rat had
vainly tried to shield him from--the Terror of the Wild Wood!

Meantime the Rat, warm and comfortable, dozed by his fireside. His paper
of half-finished verses slipped from 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 h