sturbing people on such a night? Speak up!"

"Oh, Badger," cried the Rat, "let us in, please. It's me, Rat, and my
friend Mole, and we've lost our way in the snow."

"What, Ratty, my dear little man!" exclaimed the Badger, in quite a
different voice. "Come along in, both of you, at once. Why, you must
be perished. Well, I never! Lost in the snow! And in the Wild Wood,
too, and at this time of night! But come in with you."

The two animals tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get
inside, and heard the door shut behind them with great joy and relief.

The Badger, who wore a long dressing-gown, and whose slippers were
indeed very down at heel, carried a flat candlestick in his paw and
had probably been on his way to bed when their summons sounded. He
looked kindly down on them and patted both their heads. "This is not
the sort of night for small animals to be out," he said paternally.
"I'm afraid you've been up to some of your pranks again, Ratty. But
come along; come into the kitchen. There's a first-rate fire there,
and supper and everything."

He shuffled on in front of them, carrying the light, and they
followed him, nudging each other in an anticipating sort of way, down
a long, gloomy, and, to tell the truth, decidedly shabby passage, into
a sort of a central hall, out of which they could dimly see other long
tunnel-like passages branching, passages mysterious and without
apparent end. But there were doors in the hall as well--stout oaken,
comfortable-looking doors. One of these the Badger flung open, and at
once they found themselves in all the glow and warmth of a large
fire-lit kitchen.

The floor was well-worn red brick, and on the wide hearth burnt a fire
of logs, between two attractive chimney-corners tucked away in the
wall, well out of any suspicion of draught. A couple of high-backed
settles, facing each other on either side of the fire, gave further
sitting accommodations for the sociably disposed. In the middle of the
room stood a long table of plain boards placed on trestles, with
benches down each side. At one end of it, where an arm-chair stood
pushed back, were spread the remains of the Badger's plain but ample
supper. Rows of spotless plates winked from the shelves of the dresser
at the far end of the room, and from the rafters overhead hung hams,
bundles of dried herbs, nets of onions, and baskets of eggs. It seemed
a place where heroes could fitly feast after victory, where weary
har