AUTHOR OF
  "THE GOLDEN AGE," "DREAM DAYS," ETC.
 
  I
  THE RIVER BANK

    The Mole
        had been
              working very hard
                   all the morning,
           springcleaning his little home.

    First with brooms,
           then with dusters;
        then on ladders
               and steps and chairs,
           with a brush
               and a pail of whitewash;
        till he had
             dust in his throat
                   and eyes,
           and splashes of whitewash all
               over his black fur,
         and an aching
               back and weary arms.

    Spring was
          moving in the air
               above and in the earth
             below and
               around him,
           penetrating even his dark
               and lowly little house
             with its spirit
                   of divine discontent and longing.

    It was small wonder,
           then,
         that he suddenly
              flung down his brush
                   on the floor,
           said
         'Bother!'

    and
         'O blow!'

    and also
         'Hang spring-cleaning!'

    and bolted
           out of the house
         without even
              waiting to put
                   on his coat.

    Something up above
        was calling him imperiously,
           and he made
               for the steep little tunnel
              which answered
                   in his case
                       to the gravelled carriage-drive
                  owned by animals
             whose residences
                are nearer
                       to the sun and air.

    So he scraped
           and scratched and
              scrabbled and scrooged and then
         he scrooged again and
              scrabbled and scratched and scraped,
           working busily
               with his little paws and
              muttering to himself,
         'Up we go!

    Up we go!'

    till at last,
           pop!

    his snout
        came out into the sunlight,
           and he found
               himself rolling
                   in the warm grass
                       of a great meadow.

    'This is fine!'

    he said to himself.

    'This is better than whitewashing!'

    The sunshine
          struck hot on his fur,
           soft breezes
              caressed his heated brow,
         and after the seclusion
               of the cellarage
             he had
                  lived in so long
                       the carol
                     of happy birds
                fell on his dulled
                      hearing almost like a shout.

    Jumping off
           all his four legs
         at once,
           in the joy of living
               and the delight of spring
             without its cleaning,
         he pursued his way
               across the meadow
             till he reached
                   the hedge
                       on the further side.

    'Hold up!'

    said an elderly 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.