THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS - IV. MR. BADGER

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

By Kenneth Grahame

Author Of “The Golden Age,” “Dream Days,” Etc.

IV. MR. BADGER

THEY waited patiently for what seemed a very long time, stamping in
the snow to keep their feet warm. At last they heard the sound of slow
shuffling footsteps approaching the door from the inside. It seemed, as
the Mole remarked to the Rat, like some one walking in carpet slippers
that were too large for him and down at heel; which was intelligent of
Mole, because that was exactly what it was.

There was the noise of a bolt shot back, and the door opened a few
inches, enough to show a long snout and a pair of sleepy blinking eyes.

‘Now, the VERY next time this happens,’ said a gruff and suspicious
voice, ‘I shall be exceedingly angry. Who is it THIS time, disturbing
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 harvesters could
line up in scores along the table and keep their Harvest Home with mirth
and song, or where two or three friends of simple tastes could sit about
as they pleased and eat and smoke and talk in comfort and contentment.
The ruddy brick floor smiled up at the smoky ceiling; the oaken settles,
shiny with long wear, exchanged cheerful glances with each other; plates
on the dresser grinned at pots on the shelf, and the merry firelight
flickered and played over everything without distinction.

The kindly Badger thrust them down on a settle to toast themselves
at the fire, and bade them remove their wet coats and boots. Then he
fetched them dressing-gowns and slippers, and himself bathed the Mole’s
shin with warm water and mended the cut with sticking-plaster till the
whole thing was just as good as new, if not better. In the embracing
light and warmth, warm and dry at last, with weary legs propped up in
front of them, and a suggestive clink of plates being arranged on
the table behind, it seemed to the storm-driven animals, now in safe
anchorage, that the cold and trackless Wild Wood just left outside
was miles and miles away, and all that they had suffered in it a
half-forgotten dream.

When at last they were thoroughly toasted, the Badger summoned them to
the table, where he had been busy laying a repast. They had felt pretty
hungry before, but when they actually saw at last the supper that was
spread for them, really it seemed only a question of what they should
attack first where all was so attractive, and whether the other
things would obligingly wait for them till they had time to give them
attention. Conversation was impossible for a long time; and when it
was slowly resumed, it was that regrettable sort of conversation that
results from talking with your mouth full. The Badger did not mind that
sort of thing at all, nor did he take any notice of elbows on the table,
or everybody speaking at once. As he did not go into Society himself,
he had got an idea that these things belonged to the things that didn’t
really matter. (We know of course that he was wrong, and took too narrow
a view; because they do matter very much, though it would take too long
to explain why.) He sat in his arm-chair at the head of the table, and
nodded gravely at intervals as the animals told their story; and he did
not seem surprised or shocked at anything, and he never said, ‘I told
you so,’ or, ‘Just what I always said,’ or remarked that they ought to
have done so-and-so, or ought not to have done something else. The Mole
began to feel very friendly towards him.

When supper was really finished at last, and each animal felt that his
skin was now as tight as was decently safe, and that by this time he
didn’t care a hang for anybody or anything, they gathered round the
glowing embers of the great wood fire, and thought how jolly it was to
be sitting up SO late, and SO independent, and SO full; and after
they had chatted for a time about things in general, the Badger said
heartily, ‘Now then! tell us the news from your part of the world. How’s
old Toad going on?’

‘Oh, from bad to worse,’ said the Rat gravely, while the Mole, cocked
up on a settle and basking in the firelight, his heels higher than his
head, tried to look properly mournful. ‘Another smash-up only last week,
and a bad one. You see, he will insist on driving himself, and he’s
hopelessly incapable. If he’d only employ a decent, steady, well-trained
animal, pay him good wages, and leave everything to him, he’d get on all
right. But no; he’s convinced he’s a heaven-born driver, and nobody can
teach him anything; and all the rest follows.’

‘How many has he had?’ inquired the Badger gloomily.

‘Smashes, or machines?’ asked the Rat. ‘Oh, well, after all, it’s the
same thing--with Toad. This is the seventh. As for the others--you know
that coach-house of his? Well, it’s piled up--literally piled up to the
roof--with fragments of motor-cars, none of them bigger than your hat!
That accounts for the other six--so far as they can be accounted for.’

‘He’s been in hospital three times,’ put in the Mole; ‘and as for the
fines he’s had to pay, it’s simply awful to think of.’

‘Yes, and that’s part of the trouble,’ continued the Rat. ‘Toad’s rich,
we all know; but he’s not a millionaire. And he’s a hopelessly bad
driver, and quite regardless of law and order. Killed or ruined--it’s
got to be one of the two things, sooner or later. Badger! we’re his
friends--oughtn’t we to do something?’

The Badger went through a bit of hard thinking. ‘Now look here!’ he said
at last, rather severely; ‘of course you know I can’t do anything NOW?’

His two friends assented, quite understanding his point. No animal,
according to the rules of animal-etiquette, is ever expected to do
anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the
off-season of winter. All are sleepy--some actually asleep. All are
weather-bound, more or less; and all are resting from arduous days and
nights, during which every muscle in them has been severely tested, and
every energy kept at full stretch.

‘Very well then!’ continued the Badger. ‘BUT, when once the year has
really turned, and the nights are shorter, and halfway through them one
rouses and feels fidgety and wanting to be up and doing by sunrise, if
not before--YOU know!----’

Both animals nodded gravely. THEY knew!

‘Well, THEN,’ went on the Badger, ‘we--that is, you and me and our
friend the Mole here--we’ll take Toad seriously in hand. We’ll stand no
nonsense whatever. We’ll bring him back to reason, by force if need be.
We’ll MAKE him be a sensible Toad. We’ll--you’re asleep, Rat!’

‘Not me!’ said the Rat, waking up with a jerk.

‘He’s been asleep two or three times since supper,’ said the Mole,
laughing. He himself was feeling quite wakeful and even lively, though
he didn’t know why. The reason was, of course, that he being naturally
an underground animal by birth and breeding, the situation of Badger’s
house exactly suited him and made him feel at home; while the Rat, who
slept every night in a bedroom the windows of which opened on a breezy
river, naturally felt the atmosphere still and oppressive.

‘Well, it’s time we were all in bed,’ said the Badger, getting up and
fetching flat candlesticks. ‘Come along, you two, and I’ll show you your
quarters. And take your time tomorrow morning--breakfast at any hour you
please!’

He conducted the two animals to a long room that seemed half bedchamber
and half loft. The Badger’s winter stores, which indeed were visible
everywhere, took up half the room--piles of apples, turnips, and
potatoes, baskets full of nuts, and jars of honey; but the two little
white beds on the remainder of the floor looked soft and inviting, and
the linen on them, though coarse, was clean and smelt beautifully of
lavender; and the Mole and the Water Rat, shaking off their garments
in some thirty seconds, tumbled in between the sheets in great joy and
contentment.

In accordance with the kindly Badger’s injunctions, the two tired
animals came down to breakfast very late next morning, and found a
bright fire burning in the kitchen, and two young hedgehogs sitting on
a bench at the table, eating oatmeal porridge out of wooden bowls. The
hedgehogs dropped their spoons, rose to their feet, and ducked their
heads respectfully as the two entered.

‘There, sit down, sit down,’ said the Rat pleasantly, ‘and go on with
your porridge. Where have you youngsters come from? Lost your way in the
snow, I suppose?’

‘Yes, please, sir,’ said the elder of the two hedgehogs respectfully.
‘Me and little Billy here, we was trying to find our way to
school--mother WOULD have us go, was the weather ever so--and of course
we lost ourselves, sir, and Billy he got frightened and took and cried,
being young and faint-hearted. And at last we happened up against Mr.
Badger’s back door, and made so bold as to knock, sir, for Mr. Badger
he’s a kind-hearted gentleman, as everyone knows----’

‘I understand,’ said the Rat, cutting himself some rashers from a side
of bacon, while the Mole dropped some eggs into a saucepan. ‘And what’s
the weather like outside? You needn’t “sir” me quite so much?’ he added.

‘O, terrible bad, sir, terrible deep the snow is,’ said the hedgehog.
‘No getting out for the likes of you gentlemen to-day.’

‘Where’s Mr. Badger?’ inquired the Mole, as he warmed the coffee-pot
before the fire.

‘The master’s gone into his study, sir,’ replied the hedgehog, ‘and he
said as how he was going to be particular busy this morning, and on no
account was he to be disturbed.’

This explanation, of course, was thoroughly understood by every one
present. The fact is, as already set forth, when you live a life of
intense activity for six months in the year, and of comparative or
actual somnolence for the other six, during the latter period you cannot
be continually pleading sleepiness when there are people about or things
to be done. The excuse gets monotonous. The animals well knew that
Badger, having eaten a hearty breakfast, had retired to his study and
settled himself in an arm-chair with his legs up on another and a red
cotton handkerchief over his face, and was being ‘busy’ in the usual way
at this time of the year.

The front-door bell clanged loudly, and the Rat, who was very greasy
with buttered toast, sent Billy, the smaller hedgehog, to see who it
might be. There was a sound of much stamping in the hall, and presently
Billy returned in front of the Otter, who threw himself on the Rat with
an embrace and a shout of affectionate greeting.

‘Get off!’ spluttered the Rat, with his mouth full.

‘Thought I should find you here all right,’ said the Otter cheerfully.
‘They were all in a great state of alarm along River Bank when I arrived
this morning. Rat never been home all night--nor Mole either--something
dreadful must have happened, they said; and the snow had covered up all
your tracks, of course. But I knew that when people were in any fix they
mostly went to Badger, or else Badger got to know of it somehow, so I
came straight off here, through the Wild Wood and the snow! My! it was
fine, coming through the snow as the red sun was rising and showing
against the black tree-trunks! As you went along in the stillness, every
now and then masses of snow slid off the branches suddenly with a flop!
making you jump and run for cover. Snow-castles and snow-caverns had
sprung up out of nowhere in the night--and snow bridges, terraces,
ramparts--I could have stayed and played with them for hours. Here and
there great branches had been torn away by the sheer weight of the snow,
and robins perched and hopped on them in their perky conceited way, just
as if they had done it themselves. A ragged string of wild geese passed
overhead, high on the grey sky, and a few rooks whirled over the trees,
inspected, and flapped off homewards with a disgusted expression; but I
met no sensible being to ask the news of. About halfway across I came on
a rabbit sitting on a stump, cleaning his silly face with his paws. He
was a pretty scared animal when I crept up behind him and placed a heavy
forepaw on his shoulder. I had to cuff his head once or twice to get any
sense out of it at all. At last I managed to extract from him that Mole
had been seen in the Wild Wood last night by one of them. It was the
talk of the burrows, he said, how Mole, Mr. Rat’s particular friend,
was in a bad fix; how he had lost his way, and “They” were up and out
hunting, and were chivvying him round and round. “Then why didn’t any of
you DO something?” I asked. “You mayn’t be blest with brains, but there
are hundreds and hundreds of you, big, stout fellows, as fat as butter,
and your burrows running in all directions, and you could have taken
him in and made him safe and comfortable, or tried to, at all events.”
 “What, US?” he merely said: “DO something? us rabbits?” So I cuffed him
again and left him. There was nothing else to be done. At any rate, I
had learnt something; and if I had had the luck to meet any of “Them”
 I’d have learnt something more--or THEY would.’

‘Weren’t you at all--er--nervous?’ asked the Mole, some of yesterday’s
terror coming back to him at the mention of the Wild Wood.

‘Nervous?’ The Otter showed a gleaming set of strong white teeth as he
laughed. ‘I’d give ‘em nerves if any of them tried anything on with me.
Here, Mole, fry me some slices of ham, like the good little chap you
are. I’m frightfully hungry, and I’ve got any amount to say to Ratty
here. Haven’t seen him for an age.’

So the good-natured Mole, having cut some slices of ham, set the
hedgehogs to fry it, and returned to his own breakfast, while the Otter
and the Rat, their heads together, eagerly talked river-shop, which is
long shop and talk that is endless, running on like the babbling river
itself.

A plate of fried ham had just been cleared and sent back for more, when
the Badger entered, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and greeted them all
in his quiet, simple way, with kind enquiries for every one. ‘It must
be getting on for luncheon time,’ he remarked to the Otter. ‘Better stop
and have it with us. You must be hungry, this cold morning.’

‘Rather!’ replied the Otter, winking at the Mole. ‘The sight of these
greedy young hedgehogs stuffing themselves with fried ham makes me feel
positively famished.’

The hedgehogs, who were just beginning to feel hungry again after their
porridge, and after working so hard at their frying, looked timidly up
at Mr. Badger, but were too shy to say anything.

‘Here, you two youngsters be off home to your mother,’ said the Badger
kindly. ‘I’ll send some one with you to show you the way. You won’t want
any dinner to-day, I’ll be bound.’

He gave them sixpence apiece and a pat on the head, and they went off
with much respectful swinging of caps and touching of forelocks.

Presently they all sat down to luncheon together. The Mole found himself
placed next to Mr. Badger, and, as the other two were still deep
in river-gossip from which nothing could divert them, he took the
opportunity to tell Badger how comfortable and home-like it all felt to
him. ‘Once well underground,’ he said, ‘you know exactly where you are.
Nothing can happen to you, and nothing can get at you. You’re entirely
your own master, and you don’t have to consult anybody or mind what
they say. Things go on all the same overhead, and you let ‘em, and don’t
bother about ‘em. When you want to, up you go, and there the things are,
waiting for you.’

The Badger simply beamed on him. ‘That’s exactly what I say,’ he
replied. ‘There’s no security, or peace and tranquillity, except
underground. And then, if your ideas get larger and you want to
expand--why, a dig and a scrape, and there you are! If you feel your
house is a bit too big, you stop up a hole or two, and there you are
again! No builders, no tradesmen, no remarks passed on you by fellows
looking over your wall, and, above all, no WEATHER. Look at Rat, now. A
couple of feet of flood water, and he’s got to move into hired lodgings;
uncomfortable, inconveniently situated, and horribly expensive. Take
Toad. I say nothing against Toad Hall; quite the best house in these
parts, AS a house. But supposing a fire breaks out--where’s Toad?
Supposing tiles are blown off, or walls sink or crack, or windows get
broken--where’s Toad? Supposing the rooms are draughty--I HATE a draught
myself--where’s Toad? No, up and out of doors is good enough to roam
about and get one’s living in; but underground to come back to at
last--that’s my idea of HOME.’

The Mole assented heartily; and the Badger in consequence got very
friendly with him. ‘When lunch is over,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you all
round this little place of mine. I can see you’ll appreciate it. You
understand what domestic architecture ought to be, you do.’

After luncheon, accordingly, when the other two had settled themselves
into the chimney-corner and had started a heated argument on the subject
of EELS, the Badger lighted a lantern and bade the Mole follow him.
Crossing the hall, they passed down one of the principal tunnels, and
the wavering light of the lantern gave glimpses on either side of rooms
both large and small, some mere cupboards, others nearly as broad and
imposing as Toad’s dining-hall. A narrow passage at right angles led
them into another corridor, and here the same thing was repeated. The
Mole was staggered at the size, the extent, the ramifications of it all;
at the length of the dim passages, the solid vaultings of the crammed
store-chambers, the masonry everywhere, the pillars, the arches, the
pavements. ‘How on earth, Badger,’ he said at last, ‘did you ever find
time and strength to do all this? It’s astonishing!’

‘It WOULD be astonishing indeed,’ said the Badger simply, ‘if I HAD
done it. But as a matter of fact I did none of it--only cleaned out the
passages and chambers, as far as I had need of them. There’s lots more
of it, all round about. I see you don’t understand, and I must explain
it to you. Well, very long ago, on the spot where the Wild Wood waves
now, before ever it had planted itself and grown up to what it now
is, there was a city--a city of people, you know. Here, where we are
standing, they lived, and walked, and talked, and slept, and carried on
their business. Here they stabled their horses and feasted, from here
they rode out to fight or drove out to trade. They were a powerful
people, and rich, and great builders. They built to last, for they
thought their city would last for ever.’

‘But what has become of them all?’ asked the Mole.

‘Who can tell?’ said the Badger. ‘People come--they stay for a while,
they flourish, they build--and they go. It is their way. But we remain.
There were badgers here, I’ve been told, long before that same city ever
came to be. And now there are badgers here again. We are an enduring
lot, and we may move out for a time, but we wait, and are patient, and
back we come. And so it will ever be.’

‘Well, and when they went at last, those people?’ said the Mole.

‘When they went,’ continued the Badger, ‘the strong winds and persistent
rains took the matter in hand, patiently, ceaselessly, year after year.
Perhaps we badgers too, in our small way, helped a little--who knows?
It was all down, down, down, gradually--ruin and levelling and
disappearance. Then it was all up, up, up, gradually, as seeds grew
to saplings, and saplings to forest trees, and bramble and fern came
creeping in to help. Leaf-mould rose and obliterated, streams in their
winter freshets brought sand and soil to clog and to cover, and in
course of time our home was ready for us again, and we moved in. Up
above us, on the surface, the same thing happened. Animals arrived,
liked the look of the place, took up their quarters, settled down,
spread, and flourished. They didn’t bother themselves about the
past--they never do; they’re too busy. The place was a bit humpy
and hillocky, naturally, and full of holes; but that was rather an
advantage. And they don’t bother about the future, either--the future
when perhaps the people will move in again--for a time--as may very well
be. The Wild Wood is pretty well populated by now; with all the usual
lot, good, bad, and indifferent--I name no names. It takes all sorts to
make a world. But I fancy you know something about them yourself by this
time.’

‘I do indeed,’ said the Mole, with a slight shiver.

‘Well, well,’ said the Badger, patting him on the shoulder, ‘it was your
first experience of them, you see. They’re not so bad really; and we
must all live and let live. But I’ll pass the word around to-morrow, and
I think you’ll have no further trouble. Any friend of MINE walks where
he likes in this country, or I’ll know the reason why!’

When they got back to the kitchen again, they found the Rat walking up
and down, very restless. The underground atmosphere was oppressing him
and getting on his nerves, and he seemed really to be afraid that the
river would run away if he wasn’t there to look after it. So he had his
overcoat on, and his pistols thrust into his belt again. ‘Come along,
Mole,’ he said anxiously, as soon as he caught sight of them. ‘We must
get off while it’s daylight. Don’t want to spend another night in the
Wild Wood again.’

‘It’ll be all right, my fine fellow,’ said the Otter. ‘I’m coming along
with you, and I know every path blindfold; and if there’s a head that
needs to be punched, you can confidently rely upon me to punch it.’

‘You really needn’t fret, Ratty,’ added the Badger placidly. ‘My
passages run further than you think, and I’ve bolt-holes to the edge
of the wood in several directions, though I don’t care for everybody to
know about them. When you really have to go, you shall leave by one of
my short cuts. Meantime, make yourself easy, and sit down again.’

The Rat was nevertheless still anxious to be off and attend to his
river, so the Badger, taking up his lantern again, led the way along a
damp and airless tunnel that wound and dipped, part vaulted, part hewn
through solid rock, for a weary distance that seemed to be miles. At
last daylight began to show itself confusedly through tangled growth
overhanging the mouth of the passage; and the Badger, bidding them
a hasty good-bye, pushed them hurriedly through the opening, made
everything look as natural as possible again, with creepers, brushwood,
and dead leaves, and retreated.

They found themselves standing on the very edge of the Wild Wood. Rocks
and brambles and tree-roots behind them, confusedly heaped and tangled;
in front, a great space of quiet fields, hemmed by lines of hedges black
on the snow, and, far ahead, a glint of the familiar old river, while
the wintry sun hung red and low on the horizon. The Otter, as knowing
all the paths, took charge of the party, and they trailed out on a
bee-line for a distant stile. Pausing there a moment and looking back,
they saw the whole mass of the Wild Wood, dense, menacing, compact,
grimly set in vast white surroundings; simultaneously they turned and
made swiftly for home, for firelight and the familiar things it played
on, for the voice, sounding cheerily outside their window, of the river
that they knew and trusted in all its moods, that never made them afraid
with any amazement.

As he hurried along, eagerly anticipating the moment when he would be at
home again among the things he knew and liked, the Mole saw clearly that
he was an animal of tilled field and hedge-row, linked to the ploughed
furrow, the frequented pasture, the lane of evening lingerings,
the cultivated garden-plot. For others the asperities, the stubborn
endurance, or the clash of actual conflict, that went with Nature in the
rough; he must be wise, must keep to the pleasant places in which his
lines were laid and which held adventure enough, in their way, to last
for a lifetime.

Posted in: ***English Literature***