something of what the wind went whispering so constantly
among them.

II

THE OPEN ROAD

"Ratty," said the Mole suddenly, one bright summer morning, "if you
please, I want to ask you a favour."

The Rat was sitting on the river bank, singing a little song. He had
just composed it himself, so he was very taken up with it, and would
not pay proper attention to Mole or anything else. Since early morning
he had been swimming in the river, in company with his friends, the
ducks. And when the ducks stood on their heads suddenly, as ducks
will, he would dive down and tickle their necks, just under where
their chins would be if ducks had chins, till they were forced to come
to the surface again in a hurry, spluttering and angry and shaking
their feathers at him, for it is impossible to say quite _all_ you
feel when your head is under water. At last they implored him to go
away and attend to his own affairs and leave them to mind theirs. So
the Rat went away, and sat on the river bank in the sun, and made up a
song about them, which he called:

"DUCKS' DITTY."

All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!

Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth
Where the roach swim--
Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!
_We_ like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above
Swifts whirl and call--
_We_ are down a-dabbling
Up tails all!

"I don't know that I think so _very_ much of that little song, Rat,"
observed the Mole cautiously. He was no poet himself and didn't care
who knew it; and he had a candid nature.

"Nor don't the ducks neither," replied the Rat cheerfully. "They say,
'_Why_ can't fellows be allowed to do what they like _when_ they like
and _as_ they like, instead of other fellows sitting on banks and
watching them all the time and making remarks and poetry and things
about them? What _nonsense_ it all is!' That's what the ducks say."

"So it is, so it is," said the Mole, with great heartiness.

"No, it isn't!" cried the Rat indignantly.

"Well then, it isn't, it isn't," replied the Mole soothingly. "But what
I wanted to ask you was, won't