ly rabbit at the gap. "Sixpence for the
privilege of passing by the private road!" He was bowled over in an
instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the
side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly
from their holes to see what the row was about. "Onion-sauce!
Onion-sauce!" he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could
think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started
grumbling at each other. "How _stupid_ you are! Why didn't you tell
him--" "Well, why didn't _you_ say--" "You might have reminded him--"
and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too
late, as is always the case.

It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows
he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding
everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting--everything
happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy
conscience pricking him and whispering "whitewash!" he somehow could only
feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy
citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much
to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

He thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered aimlessly
along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in his
life had he seen a river before--this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied
animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and
leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that
shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake
and a-shiver--glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl,
chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By
the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the
side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories; and when
tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on
to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent
from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.

As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the
bank opposite, just above the water's edge, caught his eye, and
dreamily he fell to considering what a nice, snug dwelling-place it
would make for an animal with few wants and fond of a bijou riverside
residence, above flood level and remote from noise