IX. WAYFARERS ALL
The Water Rat was restless, and he did not exactly know why. To allappearance the summer's pomp was still at fullest height, and althoughin the tilled acres green had given way to gold, though rowans werereddening, and the woods were dashed here and there with a tawnyfierceness, yet light and warmth and colour were still present inundiminished measure, clean of any chilly premonitions of the passingyear. But the constant chorus of the orchards and hedges had shrunk toa casual evensong from a few yet unwearied performers; the robin wasbeginning to assert himself once more; and there was a feeling inthe air of change and departure. The cuckoo, of course, had long beensilent; but many another feathered friend, for months a part of thefamiliar landscape and its small society, was missing too and it seemedthat the ranks thinned steadily day by day. Rat, ever observant of allwinged movement, saw that it was taking daily a southing tendency; andeven as he lay in bed at night he thought he could make out, passingin the darkness overhead, the beat and quiver of impatient pinions,obedient to the peremptory call.
Nature's Grand Hotel has its Season, like the others. As the guests oneby one pack, pay, and depart, and the seats at the table-d'hote shrinkpitifully at each succeeding meal; as suites of rooms are closed,carpets taken up, and waiters sent away; those boarders who are stayingon, en pension, until the next year's full re-opening, cannot helpbeing somewhat affected by all these flittings and farewells, this eagerdiscussion of plans, routes, and fresh quarters, this daily shrinkage inthe stream of comradeship. One gets unsettled, depressed, and inclinedto be querulous. Why this craving for change? Why not stay on quietlyhere, like us, and be jolly? You don't know this hotel out of theseason, and what fun we have among ourselves, we fellows who remain andsee the whole interesting year out. All very true, no doubt the othersalways reply; we quite envy you--and some other year perhaps--but justnow we have engagements--and there's the bus at the door--our time isup! So they depart, with a smile and a nod, and we miss them, and feelresentful. The Rat was a self-sufficing sort of animal, rooted to theland, and, whoever went, he stayed; still, he could not help noticingwhat was in the air, and feeling some of its influence in his bones.
It was difficult to settle down to anything seriously, with all thisflitting going on. Leaving the water-side, where rushes stood thickand tall in a stream that was becoming sluggish and low, he wanderedcountry-wards, crossed a field or two of pasturage already looking dustyand parched, and thrust into the great sea of wheat, yellow, wavy, andmurmurous, full of quiet motion and small whisperings. Here he oftenloved to wander, through the forest of stiff strong stalks that carriedtheir own golden sky away over his head--a sky that was always dancing,shimmering, softly talking; or swaying strongly to the passing wind andrecovering itself with a toss and a merry laugh. Here, too, he hadmany small friends, a society complete in itself, leading full and busylives, but always with a spare moment to gossip, and exchange news witha visitor. Today, however, though they were civil enough, the field-miceand harvest-mice seemed preoccupied. Many were digging and tunnellingbusily; others, gathered together in small groups, examined plansand drawings of small flats, stated to be desirable and compact, andsituated conveniently near the Stores. Some were hauling out dustytrunks and dress-baskets, others were already elbow-deep packing theirbelongings; while everywhere piles and bundles of wheat, oats, barley,beech-mast and nuts, lay about ready for transport.
'Here's old Ratty!' they cried as soon as they saw him. 'Come and bear ahand, Rat, and don't stand about idle!'
'What sort of games are you up to?' said the Water Rat severely. 'Youknow it isn't time to be thinking of winter quarters yet, by a longway!'
'O yes, we know that,' explained a field-mouse rather shamefacedly; 'butit's always as well to be in good time, isn't it? We really MUST getall the furniture and baggage and stores moved out of this before thosehorrid machines begin clicking round the fields; and then, you know,the best flats get picked up so quickly nowadays, and if you're late youhave to put up with ANYTHING; and they want such a lot of doing up, too,before they're fit to move into. Of course, we're early, we know that;but we're only just making a start.'
'O, bother STARTS,' said the Rat. 'It's a splendid day. Come for a row,or a stroll along the hedges, or a picnic in the woods, or something.'
'Well, I THINK not TO-DAY, thank you,' replied the field-mousehurriedly. 'Perhaps some OTHER day--when we've more TIME----'
The Rat, with a snort of contempt, swung round to go, tripped over ahat-box, and fell, with undignified remarks.
'If people would be more careful,' said a field-mouse rather stiffly,'and look where they're going, people wouldn't hurt themselves--andforget themselves. Mind that hold-all, Rat! You'd better sit downsomewhere. In an hour or two we may be more free to attend to you.'
'You won't be free as you call it much this side of Christmas, I cansee that,' retorted the Rat grumpily, as he picked his way out of thefield.
He returned somewhat despondently to his river again--his faithful,steady-going old river, which never packed up, flitted, or went intowinter quarters.
In the osiers which fringed the bank he spied a swallow sitting.Presently it was joined by another, and then by a third; and the birds,fidgeting restlessly on their bough, talked together earnestly and low.
'What, ALREADY,' said the Rat, strolling up to them. 'What's the hurry?I call it simply ridiculous.'
'O, we're not off yet, if that's what you mean,' replied the firstswallow. 'We're only making plans and arranging things. Talking it over,you know--what route we're taking this year, and where we'll stop, andso on. That's half the fun!'
'Fun?' said the Rat; 'now that's just what I don't understand. If you'veGOT to leave this pleasant place, and your friends who will miss you,and your snug homes that you've just settled into, why, when the hourstrikes I've no doubt you'll go bravely, and face all the trouble anddiscomfort and change and newness, and make believe that you're not veryunhappy. But to want to talk about it, or even think about it, till youreally need----'
'No, you don't understand, naturally,' said the second swallow. 'First,we feel it stirring within us, a sweet unrest; then back come therecollections one by one, like homing pigeons. They flutter through ourdreams at night, they fly with us in our wheelings and circlings byday. We hunger to inquire of each other, to compare notes and assureourselves that it was all really true, as one by one the scents andsounds and names of long-forgotten places come gradually back and beckonto us.'
'Couldn't you stop on for just this year?' suggested the Water Rat,wistfully. 'We'll all do our best to make you feel at home. You've noidea what good times we have here, while you are far away.'
'I tried stopping on one year,' said the third swallow. 'I had grownso fond of the place that when the time came I hung back and let theothers go on without me. For a few weeks it was all well enough, butafterwards, O the weary length of the nights! The shivering, sunlessdays! The air so clammy and chill, and not an insect in an acre of it!No, it was no good; my courage broke down, and one cold, stormy night Itook wing, flying well inland on account of the strong easterly gales.It was snowing hard as I beat through the passes of the great mountains,and I had a stiff fight to win through; but never shall I forget theblissful feeling of the hot sun again on my back as I sped down to thelakes that lay so blue and placid below me, and the taste of my firstfat insect! The past was like a bad dream; the future was all happyholiday as I moved southwards week by week, easily, lazily, lingering aslong as I dared, but always heeding the call! No, I had had my warning;never again did I think of disobedience.'
'Ah, yes, the call of the South, of the South!' twittered the other twodreamily. 'Its songs its hues, its radiant air! O, do you remember----'and, forgetting the Rat, they slid into passionate reminiscence, whilehe listened fascinated, and his heart burned within him. In himself,too, he knew that it was vibrating at last, that chord hitherto dormantand unsuspected. The mere chatter of these southern-bound birds, theirpale and second-hand reports, had yet power to awaken this wild newsensation and thrill him through and through with it; what would onemoment of the real thing work in him--one passionate touch of the realsouthern sun, one waft of the authentic odor? With closed eyes he daredto dream a moment in full abandonment, and when he looked again theriver seemed steely and chill, the green fields grey and lightless. Thenhis loyal heart seemed to cry out on his weaker self for its treachery.
'Why do you ever come back, then, at all?' he demanded of the swallowsjealously. 'What do you find to attract you in this poor drab littlecountry?'
'And do you think,' said the first swallow, 'that the other call isnot for us too, in its due season? The call of lush meadow-grass, wetorchards, warm, insect-haunted ponds, of browsing cattle, of haymaking,and all the farm-buildings clustering round the House of the perfectEaves?'
'Do you suppose,' asked the second one, that you are the only livingthing that craves with a hungry longing to hear the cuckoo's noteagain?'
'In due time,' said the third, 'we shall be home-sick once more forquiet water-lilies swaying on the surface of an English stream. Butto-day all that seems pale and thin and very far away. Just now ourblood dances to other music.'
They fell a-twittering among themselves once more, and this time theirintoxicating babble was of violet seas, tawny sands, and lizard-hauntedwalls.
Restlessly the Rat wandered off once more, climbed the slope that rosegently from the north bank of the river, and lay looking out towardsthe great ring of Downs that barred his vision further southwards--hissimple horizon hitherto, his Mountains of the Moon, his limit behindwhich lay nothing he had cared to see or to know. To-day, to him gazingSouth with a new-born need stirring in his heart, the clear sky overtheir long low outline seemed to pulsate with promise; to-day, theunseen was everything, the unknown the only real fact of life. On thisside of the hills was now the real blank, on the other lay the crowdedand coloured panorama that his inner eye was seeing so clearly. Whatseas lay beyond, green, leaping, and crested! What sun-bathed coasts,along which the white villas glittered against the olive woods! Whatquiet harbours, thronged with gallant shipping bound for purple islandsof wine and spice, islands set low in languorous waters!
He rose and descended river-wards once more; then changed his mindand sought the side of the dusty lane. There, lying half-buried in thethick, cool under-hedge tangle that bordered it, he could muse on themetalled road and all the wondrous world that it led to; on all thewayfarers, too, that might have trodden it, and the fortunes andadventures they had gone to seek or found unseeking--out there,beyond--beyond!
Footsteps fell on his ear, and the figure of one that walked somewhatwearily came into view; and he saw that it was a Rat, and a very dustyone. The wayfarer, as he reached him, saluted with a gesture of courtesythat had something foreign about it--hesitated a moment--then with apleasant smile turned from the track and sat down by his side in thecool herbage. He seemed tired, and the Rat let him rest unquestioned,understanding something of what was in his thoughts; knowing, too, thevalue all animals attach at times to mere silent companionship, when theweary muscles slacken and the mind marks time.
The wayfarer was lean and keen-featured, and somewhat bowed at theshoulders; his paws were thin and long, his eyes much wrinkled at thecorners, and he wore small gold ear rings in his neatly-set well-shapedears. His knitted jersey was of a faded blue, his breeches, patched andstained, were based on a blue foundation, and his small belongings thathe carried were tied up in a blue cotton handkerchief.
When he had rested awhile the stranger sighed, snuffed the air, andlooked about him.
'That was clover, that warm whiff on the breeze,' he remarked; 'andthose are cows we hear cropping the grass behind us and blowing softlybetween mouthfuls. There is a sound of distant reapers, and yonderrises a blue line of cottage smoke against the woodland. The river runssomewhere close by, for I hear the call of a moorhen, and I see by yourbuild that you're a freshwater mariner. Everything seems asleep, andyet going on all the time. It is a goodly life that you lead, friend; nodoubt the best in the world, if only you are strong enough to lead it!'
'Yes, it's THE life, the only life, to live,' responded the Water Ratdreamily, and without his usual whole-hearted conviction.
'I did not say exactly that,' replied the stranger cautiously; 'but nodoubt it's the best. I've tried it, and I know. And because I've justtried it--six months of it--and know it's the best, here am I, footsoreand hungry, tramping away from it, tramping southward, following the oldcall, back to the old life, THE life which is mine and which will notlet me go.'
'Is this, then, yet another of them?' mused the Rat. 'And where haveyou just come from?' he asked. He hardly dared to ask where he was boundfor; he seemed to know the answer only too well.
'Nice little farm,' replied the wayfarer, briefly. 'Upalong in thatdirection'--he nodded northwards. 'Never mind about it. I had everythingI could want--everything I had any right to expect of life, and more;and here I am! Glad to be here all the same, though, glad to be here!So many miles further on the road, so many hours nearer to my heart'sdesire!'
His shining eyes held fast to the horizon, and he seemed to be listeningfor some sound that was wanting from that inland acreage, vocal as itwas with the cheerful music of pasturage and farmyard.
'You are not one of US,' said the Water Rat, 'nor yet a farmer; noreven, I should judge, of this country.'
'Right,' replied the stranger. 'I'm a seafaring rat, I am, and theport I originally hail from is Constantinople, though I'm a sort of aforeigner there too, in a manner of speaking. You will have heard ofConstantinople, friend? A fair city, and an ancient and glorious one.And you may have heard, too, of Sigurd, King of Norway, and how hesailed thither with sixty ships, and how he and his men rode up throughstreets all canopied in their honour with purple and gold; and how theEmperor and Empress came down and banqueted with him on board his ship.When Sigurd returned home, many of his Northmen remained behind andentered the Emperor's body-guard, and my ancestor, a Norwegian born,stayed behind too, with the ships that Sigurd gave the Emperor.Seafarers we have ever been, and no wonder; as for me, the city of mybirth is no more my home than any pleasant port between there and theLondon River. I know them all, and they know me. Set me down on any oftheir quays or foreshores, and I am home again.'
'I suppose you go great voyages,' said the Water Rat with growinginterest. 'Months and months out of sight of land, and provisionsrunning short, and allowanced as to water, and your mind communing withthe mighty ocean, and all that sort of thing?'
'By no means,' said the Sea Rat frankly. 'Such a life as you describewould not suit me at all. I'm in the coasting trade, and rarely out ofsight of land. It's the jolly times on shore that appeal to me, as muchas any seafaring. O, those southern seaports! The smell of them, theriding-lights at night, the glamour!'
'Well, perhaps you have chosen the better way,' said the Water Rat, butrather doubtfully. 'Tell me something of your coasting, then, if youhave a mind to, and what sort of harvest an animal of spirit might hopeto bring home from it to warm his latter days with gallant memories bythe fireside; for my life, I confess to you, feels to me to-day somewhatnarrow and circumscribed.'
'My last voyage,' began the Sea Rat, 'that landed me eventually in thiscountry, bound with high hopes for my inland farm, will serve as a goodexample of any of them, and, indeed, as an epitome of my highly-colouredlife. Family troubles, as usual, began it. The domestic storm-cone washoisted, and I shipped myself on board a small trading vessel bound fromConstantinople, by classic seas whose every wave throbs with a deathlessmemory, to the Grecian Islands and the Levant. Those were golden daysand balmy nights! In and out of harbour all the time--old friendseverywhere--sleeping in some cool temple or ruined cistern during theheat of the day--feasting and song after sundown, under great starsset in a velvet sky! Thence we turned and coasted up the Adriatic, itsshores swimming in an atmosphere of amber, rose, and aquamarine; welay in wide land-locked harbours, we roamed through ancient and noblecities, until at last one morning, as the sun rose royally behind us, werode into Venice down a path of gold. O, Venice is a fine city, whereina rat can wander at his ease and take his pleasure! Or, when weary ofwandering, can sit at the edge of the Grand Canal at night, feastingwith his friends, when the air is full of music and the sky full ofstars, and the lights flash and shimmer on the polished steel prows ofthe swaying gondolas, packed so that you could walk across the canal onthem from side to side! And then the food--do you like shellfish? Well,well, we won't linger over that now.'
He was silent for a time; and the Water Rat, silent too and enthralled,floated on dream-canals and heard a phantom song pealing high betweenvaporous grey wave-lapped walls.
'Southwards we sailed again at last,' continued the Sea Rat, 'coastingdown the Italian shore, till finally we made Palermo, and there Iquitted for a long, happy spell on shore. I never stick too long to oneship; one gets narrow-minded and prejudiced. Besides, Sicily is one ofmy happy hunting-grounds. I know everybody there, and their ways justsuit me. I spent many jolly weeks in the island, staying with friends upcountry. When I grew restless again I took advantage of a ship that wastrading to Sardinia and Corsica; and very glad I was to feel the freshbreeze and the sea-spray in my face once more.'
'But isn't it very hot and stuffy, down in the--hold, I think you callit?' asked the Water Rat.
The seafarer looked at him with the suspicion of a wink. 'I'm an oldhand,' he remarked with much simplicity. 'The captain's cabin's goodenough for me.'
'It's a hard life, by all accounts,' murmured the Rat, sunk in deepthought.
'For the crew it is,' replied the seafarer gravely, again with the ghostof a wink.
'From Corsica,' he went on, 'I made use of a ship that was taking wineto the mainland. We made Alassio in the evening, lay to, hauled up ourwine-casks, and hove them overboard, tied one to the other by a longline. Then the crew took to the boats and rowed shorewards, singing asthey went, and drawing after them the long bobbing procession of casks,like a mile of porpoises. On the sands they had horses waiting, whichdragged the casks up the steep street of the little town with a finerush and clatter and scramble. When the last cask was in, we went andrefreshed and rested, and sat late into the night, drinking with ourfriends, and next morning I took to the great olive-woods for a spelland a rest. For now I had done with islands for the time, and ports andshipping were plentiful; so I led a lazy life among the peasants, lyingand watching them work, or stretched high on the hillside with the blueMediterranean far below me. And so at length, by easy stages, and partlyon foot, partly by sea, to Marseilles, and the meeting of old shipmates,and the visiting of great ocean-bound vessels, and feasting oncemore. Talk of shell-fish! Why, sometimes I dream of the shell-fish ofMarseilles, and wake up crying!'
'That reminds me,' said the polite Water Rat; 'you happened to mentionthat you were hungry, and I ought to have spoken earlier. Of course, youwill stop and take your midday meal with me? My hole is close by; it issome time past noon, and you are very welcome to whatever there is.'
'Now I call that kind and brotherly of you,' said the Sea Rat. 'I wasindeed hungry when I sat down, and ever since I inadvertently happenedto mention shell-fish, my pangs have been extreme. But couldn't youfetch it along out here? I am none too fond of going under hatches,unless I'm obliged to; and then, while we eat, I could tell you moreconcerning my voyages and the pleasant life I lead--at least, it is verypleasant to me, and by your attention I judge it commends itself to you;whereas if we go indoors it is a hundred to one that I shall presentlyfall asleep.'
'That is indeed an excellent suggestion,' said the Water Rat, andhurried off home. There he got out the luncheon-basket and packeda simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger's origin andpreferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, asausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay downand cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottledsunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. Thus laden, hereturned with all speed, and blushed for pleasure at the old seaman'scommendations of his taste and judgment, as together they unpacked thebasket and laid out the contents on the grass by the roadside.
The Sea Rat, as soon as his hunger was somewhat assuaged, continued thehistory of his latest voyage, conducting his simple hearer from port toport of Spain, landing him at Lisbon, Oporto, and Bordeaux, introducinghim to the pleasant harbours of Cornwall and Devon, and so up theChannel to that final quayside, where, landing after winds longcontrary, storm-driven and weather-beaten, he had caught the firstmagical hints and heraldings of another Spring, and, fired by these, hadsped on a long tramp inland, hungry for the experiment of life on somequiet farmstead, very far from the weary beating of any sea.
Spell-bound and quivering with excitement, the Water Rat followedthe Adventurer league by league, over stormy bays, through crowdedroadsteads, across harbour bars on a racing tide, up winding rivers thathid their busy little towns round a sudden turn; and left him with aregretful sigh planted at his dull inland farm, about which he desiredto hear nothing.
By this time their meal was over, and the Seafarer, refreshed andstrengthened, his voice more vibrant, his eye lit with a brightness thatseemed caught from some far-away sea-beacon, filled his glass with thered and glowing vintage of the South, and, leaning towards the WaterRat, compelled his gaze and held him, body and soul, while he talked.Those eyes were of the changing foam-streaked grey-green of leapingNorthern seas; in the glass shone a hot ruby that seemed the veryheart of the South, beating for him who had courage to respond to itspulsation. The twin lights, the shifting grey and the steadfast red,mastered the Water Rat and held him bound, fascinated, powerless. Thequiet world outside their rays receded far away and ceased to be. Andthe talk, the wonderful talk flowed on--or was it speech entirely,or did it pass at times into song--chanty of the sailors weighing thedripping anchor, sonorous hum of the shrouds in a tearing North-Easter,ballad of the fisherman hauling his nets at sundown against an apricotsky, chords of guitar and mandoline from gondola or caique? Did itchange into the cry of the wind, plaintive at first, angrily shrill asit freshened, rising to a tearing whistle, sinking to a musical trickleof air from the leech of the bellying sail? All these sounds thespell-bound listener seemed to hear, and with them the hungry complaintof the gulls and the sea-mews, the soft thunder of the breaking wave,the cry of the protesting shingle. Back into speech again it passed, andwith beating heart he was following the adventures of a dozen seaports,the fights, the escapes, the rallies, the comradeships, the gallantundertakings; or he searched islands for treasure, fished in stilllagoons and dozed day-long on warm white sand. Of deep-sea fishings heheard tell, and mighty silver gatherings of the mile-long net; of suddenperils, noise of breakers on a moonless night, or the tall bows ofthe great liner taking shape overhead through the fog; of the merryhome-coming, the headland rounded, the harbour lights opened out;the groups seen dimly on the quay, the cheery hail, the splash of thehawser; the trudge up the steep little street towards the comfortingglow of red-curtained windows.
Lastly, in his waking dream it seemed to him that the Adventurer hadrisen to his feet, but was still speaking, still holding him fast withhis sea-grey eyes.
'And now,' he was softly saying, 'I take to the road again, holding onsouthwestwards for many a long and dusty day; till at last I reach thelittle grey sea town I know so well, that clings along one steep side ofthe harbour. There through dark doorways you look down flights of stonesteps, overhung by great pink tufts of valerian and ending in a patchof sparkling blue water. The little boats that lie tethered to therings and stanchions of the old sea-wall are gaily painted as thoseI clambered in and out of in my own childhood; the salmon leap on theflood tide, schools of mackerel flash and play past quay-sides andforeshores, and by the windows the great vessels glide, night and day,up to their moorings or forth to the open sea. There, sooner or later,the ships of all seafaring nations arrive; and there, at its destinedhour, the ship of my choice will let go its anchor. I shall take mytime, I shall tarry and bide, till at last the right one lies waitingfor me, warped out into midstream, loaded low, her bowsprit pointingdown harbour. I shall slip on board, by boat or along hawser; and thenone morning I shall wake to the song and tramp of the sailors, the clinkof the capstan, and the rattle of the anchor-chain coming merrily in.We shall break out the jib and the foresail, the white houses on theharbour side will glide slowly past us as she gathers steering-way, andthe voyage will have begun! As she forges towards the headland she willclothe herself with canvas; and then, once outside, the sounding slap ofgreat green seas as she heels to the wind, pointing South!
'And you, you will come too, young brother; for the days pass, and neverreturn, and the South still waits for you. Take the Adventure, heed thecall, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!' 'Tis but a banging of thedoor behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the oldlife and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home hereif you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played,and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories forcompany. You can easily overtake me on the road, for you are young, andI am ageing and go softly. I will linger, and look back; and at last Iwill surely see you coming, eager and light-hearted, with all the Southin your face!'
The voice died away and ceased as an insect's tiny trumpet dwindlesswiftly into silence; and the Water Rat, paralysed and staring, saw atlast but a distant speck on the white surface of the road.
Mechanically he rose and proceeded to repack the luncheon-basket,carefully and without haste. Mechanically he returned home, gatheredtogether a few small necessaries and special treasures he was fond of,and put them in a satchel; acting with slow deliberation, moving aboutthe room like a sleep-walker; listening ever with parted lips. He swungthe satchel over his shoulder, carefully selected a stout stick for hiswayfaring, and with no haste, but with no hesitation at all, he steppedacross the threshold just as the Mole appeared at the door.
'Why, where are you off to, Ratty?' asked the Mole in great surprise,grasping him by the arm.
'Going South, with the rest of them,' murmured the Rat in a dreamymonotone, never looking at him. 'Seawards first and then on shipboard,and so to the shores that are calling me!'
He pressed resolutely forward, still without haste, but with doggedfixity of purpose; but the Mole, now thoroughly alarmed, placed himselfin front of him, and looking into his eyes saw that they were glazed andset and turned a streaked and shifting grey--not his friend's eyes, butthe eyes of some other animal! Grappling with him strongly he draggedhim inside, threw him down, and held him.
The Rat struggled desperately for a few moments, and then his strengthseemed suddenly to leave him, and he lay still and exhausted, withclosed eyes, trembling. Presently the Mole assisted him to rise andplaced him in a chair, where he sat collapsed and shrunken intohimself, his body shaken by a violent shivering, passing in time intoan hysterical fit of dry sobbing. Mole made the door fast, threw thesatchel into a drawer and locked it, and sat down quietly on the tableby his friend, waiting for the strange seizure to pass. Gradually theRat sank into a troubled doze, broken by starts and confused murmuringsof things strange and wild and foreign to the unenlightened Mole; andfrom that he passed into a deep slumber.
Very anxious in mind, the Mole left him for a time and busied himselfwith household matters; and it was getting dark when he returned to theparlour and found the Rat where he had left him, wide awake indeed, butlistless, silent, and dejected. He took one hasty glance at his eyes;found them, to his great gratification, clear and dark and brown againas before; and then sat down and tried to cheer him up and help him torelate what had happened to him.
Poor Ratty did his best, by degrees, to explain things; but how couldhe put into cold words what had mostly been suggestion? How recall, foranother's benefit, the haunting sea voices that had sung to him,how reproduce at second-hand the magic of the Seafarer's hundredreminiscences? Even to himself, now the spell was broken and the glamourgone, he found it difficult to account for what had seemed, some hoursago, the inevitable and only thing. It is not surprising, then, that hefailed to convey to the Mole any clear idea of what he had been throughthat day.
To the Mole this much was plain: the fit, or attack, had passedaway, and had left him sane again, though shaken and cast down by thereaction. But he seemed to have lost all interest for the time in thethings that went to make up his daily life, as well as in all pleasantforecastings of the altered days and doings that the changing season wassurely bringing.
Casually, then, and with seeming indifference, the Mole turned his talkto the harvest that was being gathered in, the towering wagons and theirstraining teams, the growing ricks, and the large moon rising over bareacres dotted with sheaves. He talked of the reddening apples around, ofthe browning nuts, of jams and preserves and the distilling of cordials;till by easy stages such as these he reached midwinter, its hearty joysand its snug home life, and then he became simply lyrical.
By degrees the Rat began to sit up and to join in. His dull eyebrightened, and he lost some of his listening air.
Presently the tactful Mole slipped away and returned with a pencil anda few half-sheets of paper, which he placed on the table at his friend'selbow.
'It's quite a long time since you did any poetry,' he remarked. 'Youmight have a try at it this evening, instead of--well, brooding overthings so much. I've an idea that you'll feel a lot better when you'vegot something jotted down--if it's only just the rhymes.'
The Rat pushed the paper away from him wearily, but the discreet Moletook occasion to leave the room, and when he peeped in again sometime later, the Rat was absorbed and deaf to the world; alternatelyscribbling and sucking the top of his pencil. It is true that he suckeda good deal more than he scribbled; but it was joy to the Mole to knowthat the cure had at least begun.